Take Time
by A.L. Kingsley
Summary: Book 1 of the Temporibus Retroactis Trilogy: Theodore Nott's desperate attempt to save everything that mattered to him by changing the timeline puts Albus Severus Potter's existence, and more importantly, all he ever knew, in jeopardy. And Al, stuck in 1995, didn't know that. [time travel, next gen, mild swearing]
1. 1: Pt1 (Year 5) Privet Drive and The Map

**The facts:**

**1. If I were J.K. Rowling, I wouldn't post stories here on this site, when I could make a load of money out of it.**

**2. My writing style, I believe, is far from J.K. Rowing's.**

**3. It's called a _fanfiction_.**

**Therefore: I am not J.K. Rowling, and thus I do not own Harry Potter. And I'm not earning anything from this.**

**EDIT: **5/25/2013** I have Britishisms now guys!**

* * *

**Temporibus Retroactis**

**Chapter One**:**  
**Privet Drive

**[Al]**

Albus Severus Potter wasn't stupid.

He had common sense and, although he was not quite as clever as Rose Weasley, his cousin, he was regarded as fairly smart for a fifteen-year-old. He was pretty knowledgeable about the world in general. Being the son of two of the most famous war heroes, Al was fairly well-known in school. People had tried to deceive him into thinking that they were his friend before, just so that they could have a taste of the limelight. Al had therefore taken it upon himself to know when someone was lying. He didn't use magic- he was sure Legilimency would be beyond him- but instead tried using Muggle psychology and body language (Al first heard of them while he was going to Muggle school as a kid). He was nowhere near an expert; but most of the time, he liked to think that he could tell if someone was trying to deceive him. He still used common sense a lot, though. For instance, if, during lunch, someone had told him that he would later be on a random street he had never seen before, Al would have used common sense and immediately decided that person was lying without even bothering to check his or her body language. Al certainly wouldn't have trusted that person.

At this late hour, however, Al would have entirely believed them.

Because now, Albus Severus Potter was indeed standing on a random street he had never seen before.

Al tried to remember how he had gotten here. He thought back to where he had been. He had been doing homework in the Gryffindor common room. That was it. Everyone was chattering about the preparations for Halloween (which was exactly eight days later) and he had tried to block them out while doing his Charms essay. That was it. He was nowhere near- Al squinted at a sign in the distance- Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. It rang a bell in the back of his mind, but he couldn't figure out why. At least he knew that he was still in England. Sure, he wasn't in Godric's Hollow or Hogwarts anymore, but at least he did not end up in Antarctica or somewhere like that.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The street was lined with no-nonsense rectangular houses. They were uniform, which made Al think that the street was entirely Muggle. Wizards would never like houses like this. That and he couldn't see any gnomes or magical plants growing.

But another concept disturbed him: night was falling and he had no place to stay. His parents guessing that he would wind up on _Privet Drive_ of all places would be pure luck.

He vaguely wondered what his family would be doing as of the moment. He guessed Lily would be fussing in her sweet, innocent little girl who can blow you up in a moment's notice manner about the whereabouts of Al, as would his Mum, Ginny. James wouldn't care and think his brother finally had a change of heart and decide to see sense and become a prankster, who James always claimed Al was deep down, and was playing an elaborate scheme. Teddy had been in the Ministry last Al checked. Harry would be…Al didn't know.

His environment provided a ready distraction. He continually observed the house nearest to him, which was apparently number six. It appeared as if the evening news was playing; the clock had stricken seven o'clock. The currently playing news was a load of claptrap about a water-skiing budgerigar called Bungy; Albus paid little attention to it. He pricked his ears for anything else, but the entire lane seemed to have tuned into the exact same program at the exact same time. This street was so stereotypical; it was unnerving.

Even more alarming was the _crack_ which filled the air, similar to the sound one makes if he Apparates, as if on cue. Al reflexively dropped on his knees as he looked wildly around for any sudden arrivals. There was the sound of a little girl's yelp from number two, a cat racing out from under its shelter under a parked car. Number four seemed to have the most intense reaction; there was a screech from what he assumed was an unpleasant woman, a holler originating from whom he presumed was an even more unpleasant man, and the sound of, maybe, a teacup breaking. His eyes darted to the quaint square house which had overreacted just in time for his eyes to land on a familiar frame which rose out of the hydrangeas; just an outline, really, of a slight build and unruly hair, as where he had heard the name Privet Drive before reverberated in his head.

_It was the place where I grew up,_ he recalled Harry recounting, not fondly but in a remarkably emotionless tone. _It's where your Uncle Dudley lives now._

Al had never really met Dudley Dursley. He presumed that his parents predicted with the same foresight they had when providing James with a name so fitting to his personality, that the result would be utterly disastrous should their children ever meet their Muggle uncle, but from what he had heard from Ron, Dudley was somewhat disagreeable. So why was…

And it hit; everything suddenly made sense. It explained why he suddenly was on Privet Drive and why Al was certain that he should know the figure standing near the Dursleys' window.

He'd been displaced twenty years in time.

* * *

Once, when a much younger Al had asked, "Daddy, why didn't you grow up with Grandma and Grandpa Potter?" His father had looked at him reminiscently and said, "I did, Al. I did." Al now knew how much of a lie that was. Harry did _not_ come of age with his parents around.

He'd gained consciousness with _these_ people, the nasty Dursleys. Come to think of it, nasty was something of an understatement.

He blinked as Harry James Potter drew out a thin stick Al recognized as the legendary holly-and-phoenix-feather wand as if pulling a sword from its scabbard, or perhaps a gun from its holster, from his waistband. Yet he had hardly drawn himself out of the midst of the withering begonias when a hand darted out of the window.

A fat and beefy hand which Al, the most mature of the three Potter kids and perhaps the entire clan of the Weasley children, immediately labelled "sausages."

Al stared in horror as the hand clamped around his father's neck. He could hardly peer around Harry to see a burly man- the exact opposite of how Harry looked like- hissing something Al couldn't make out. The younger wizard instinctively extracted the slender rod of ash he called his wand and dropped on his knees between a car and the low garden enclosure of number four.

He realized that was an immeasurably good move when he took note of the irked-looking faces which had been stuck out of several neighbouring windows. His position left him conveniently out of sight, which Al was grateful for; the sausage-fingered man didn't seem to be fond of either seeing wands or Harry- and thus, the nearly identical Al, who spotted Harry, who stowed his wand back into his belt and stuck an expression on his face which Al identified as a poor attempt at seeming innocent; he'd seen it on James's face enough.

"Lovely evening!" barked sausage-finger, gesturing to a woman from number seven. Al tilted his head, trying to figure out what the gesture was as he glanced above the Dursleys' garden fence, before he identified it as a wave. "Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!"

He proceeded to grin hysterically- it looked forced and somewhat painful- until all the interested neighbours withdrew into the shade of their houses, then the grin resumed to being a horrible contortion.

Al spied Harry step closer to the Dursleys' window, apparently taking care to stop just past the point where sausage-finger could recommence throttling him. Al watched in grudging fascination as the man he now assumed was Vernon Dursley snarled a few more words to the Boy Who Lived. He inched slowly closer and strained his ears to hear Harry speak in a hushed, cold tone.

"…do I mean by what?"

Al sighted his Dad glance up and down the street; he dove into the safety of the incredibly truncated wall.

"Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our-"

"I didn't make that noise," Harry said with finality; Al believed him.

A woman Al supposed was Petunia appeared beside Vernon, incensed.

"Why were you lurking under our window?" she demanded.

"Yes- yes, good point, Petunia! _What are you doing under our window, boy?"_

"Listening to the news," returned Harry in a stoic tone.

Al's head buzzed: what was wrong with listening to the news that Harry had to stay in _a flower bed_ of all places?

Apparently, a lot was. "Listening to the news! _Again?"_

"Well, it changes every day, you see," said Harry; Al suppressed his laughter at his father's cheek in a snort.

"Don't you be clever with me boy!" grumbled Vernon. "I want to know what you're really up to- and don't give me any more of this _listening to the news _tosh! You know perfectly well that _your lot_…"

Al tilted his head in interest; what did sausage-finger mean when he said _Harry's lot_?

The conversation didn't seem to want to offer him any more enlightenment.

"That's all you know," Harry retorted moments later, giving Al the impression he was missing something.

"You're a nasty little liar. What are all those"- Petunia's voice went so low, Al couldn't hear the next word- "doing if they're not bringing you news?"

A few seconds later, Harry deadpanned, "The owls…aren't bringing me news."

"I don't believe it," Petunia snapped.

"No more do I," Vernon agreed vehemently.

"We know you're up to something funny," said Petunia.

"We're not stupid, you know." Al doubted it.

"Well, _that's_ news to me," said Harry in a tone Al had never heard him use before. This was closely followed by the sound of footsteps behind Al, and not too far from him, a teenage Harry James Evans Potter stepped over the garden wall.

* * *

The Malfunctioning Map

**[Lily]**

Twenty-six years later, Lily Luna Potter was regretting wishing that her brother would disappear.

Yes, Al was annoying and arguably insensitive, but Lily didn't want him to actually _vanish into thin air_. Even worse was, the Marauders' Map offered no tiny dot labelled _Albus Potter_ in microscopic handwriting. The professors had been somewhat distressed; Harry Potter's second son, simply popping out of the grounds! There had been no clue on Al's whereabouts for a _day_ and Lily was already missing her brother and the ever-present gleam in his eyes, which made him look as though he was always subduing a smile; and his annoying, know-it-all quips, despite the fact that Lily always felt overshadowed by both of her brothers. Al was the quiet, thoughtful, clever one, he had never gotten below an Acceptable, which was actually quite some achievement; James was the sporty prankster, who was exceedingly popular within Hogwarts. Lily was good at practical Charms and Muggle art. Only the former ever did her any good, as Muggle art wasn't very appreciated by the Wizarding world.

"Not sulking, are you, Lils?"

Lily lifted her head hopefully upon hearing her second brother's nickname for her; that is, until she realized that it had been _James's _voice. (There was hardly any difference between the two; only the thoughtful tone Al sometimes adopted and James's ever-carefree air distinguished them.)

"Hey," she said, her mood plummeting down.

"You look like you've been down at the dumps." James observed, the teasing tone in his voice fainter than ever as he regarded his youngest sibling, plopping down beside her as their parents always insisted he do in Hogwarts. James despised it when he was reminded to do so ("Mom, I'm in _sixth year_! Do you even _know_ what this will do to my popularity, hanging with a fifth and third year just because they're my siblings?"). The air of superiority he usually displayed was non-existent. Lily knew she should have been glad, grateful even, that James was finally deciding to embrace some humility, but this time, she wasn't exactly wishing that all the normality of her days would disappear.

James noted her expression and said in the most reassuring tone he could muster, "Lily, I know you miss him."

"I don't _miss_ him," she said defiantly. "It's a relief I'll have to endure half the teases." It sounded terribly fake and Lily winced.

James smiled faintly. "We'll find him," he said confidently. "We have to."

* * *

**Okay, that was lame, but it gets better.**


	2. 2: The Dementors

**Chapter Two**: **  
**The Dementors

**[Al]**

He froze.

Al's feelings went to war against each other; one part of him wanted to open his mouth and yell at his Dad; another, more rational part wanted him to shut up and hide and perhaps find a way to get out of the freaking place; and yet another part of him argued that he'd probably have more chance of getting back to his time if Harry knew, and a meek voice interrupted to tell them that he wouldn't _exist_ if he told Harry at all.

"Some Gryffindor you are," Al muttered scathingly to himself. "At least _follow _him, figure out a plan _later_."

He scrambled up and dusted himself off, then took to stalking Harry, regarding him interestedly.

Al would swear that he had never, to date, seen his father so _distressed._ There was no saying what he had on mind; no matter how much Al _racked his brains_ he couldn't come up with anything that both reasoned why Harry was wearing such a distraught face and made sense. There was Voldemort, he supposed, but that particular explanation violated the fact that Harry was _here_, out in the open, without having Death Eaters on his heels, supposedly when Voldemort was at the peak of his power Harry was the most wanted of Britain, Undesirable Number One.

The thought of Death Eaters on Harry's heels brought up the fact that if Harry spotted him, he would be falsely accused of being a follower of Voldemort. Al snorted at the thought of being accused of using Polyjuice Potion to imitate _Harry_ of all people. He didn't need Polyjuice to look like his Dad. His ruddy genes did that for him.

He stopped in his tracks. _Genes. Genes. Genes. _He wasn't even bloody _born_ yet. Lily and Hugo, Louis, Molly, Lucy, Rose, Dominique, James, Fred, Victoire… even _Teddy_ didn't exist.

Why was he here, then?

_Stupid time displacement, _he thought derisively.

He snapped his head up in curiosity as he noted where Harry had led him, however unwittingly: a play park.

This was the _last_ place he expected Harry to be headed to: a torn-down, vandalized, dilapidated, destroyed playground. He didn't even realize that his father had ever been to a _play park_ of all places. As far as he knew, there had never been a play park involved in his father's stories. Of course, Al had only ever focused on the more magical parts; if there had ever been a play area mentioned, he hadn't taken note of it, although Lily probably would have. Al doubted that this playground would ever have been mentioned, though, as decrepit as it was.

He scrutinized the scene in fascination as Harry settled himself on the only intact swing and coiled his arm through the chain. Al vaguely wondered what Harry was _thinking_ about for him to look so _morose_. Al had been running through the various tales he had been told by his Uncle Ron about their times at Hogwarts, coming up with _nothing_, when he realized that Harry had risen.

Al glanced warily around for whatever change had triggered this reaction. The only substantial difference he spotted in the environment was the sudden appearance of a gang-ish group of boys on what seemed to be racing bikes; Al couldn't be sure, he wasn't particularly aware or fond of Muggle sports or trends. For some reason, though, Harry took the sudden appearance of these delinquent boys as a signal to go back to the Dursleys', and since Al was to imitate his Dad's actions if he ever wanted to get anywhere, he got to his feet and stretched to get rid of the drowsiness.

Harry, he observed, seemed to be seriously tempted to provoke the aforementioned gang of boys. In the remote future, Harry would caution James to stay away from such groups; a while later, it would occur to Al that Harry didn't want them to mix with kids like that. _This_ version of Harry, however, seemed more like either of his sons rather than the wise father. Al supposed he was being unfair; after all, _this_ Harry was no more than a teenager, but being with the more mature edition of Harry, he assumed correctly, had given him a sort of prejudice about the man's younger days.

This prejudice, Al decided, was utterly erroneous, as he witnessed Harry walk rapidly to catch up with one of the boys of the gang- seemingly their leader- until he was at the stone's throw's distance with him, moving at the same pace with the blond piglet; Al was careful to follow him, taking measures to ensure that he was out of sight.

"Hey, Big D!"

The blond piglet, apparently, was dumber than Al anticipated, as was proven when he twisted and grumbled, "Oh. It's you."

"How long have you been 'Big D,' then?" queried Harry, in a manner that reminded Al almost painfully of his older, more annoying brother, James.

"Shut it," said the pig, turning away.

"Cool name," Harry grinned, and Al raised his eyebrows at the expression he had so often seen on either of his siblings, and on occasion, himself. "But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me."

Al didn't like to hear people teasing each other about names. He'd had a taste of name-calling back when he was in Muggle school. Al supposed that the name 'Albus Severus' wasn't the best one out there, but he still didn't like to be teased. He'd hated Muggle school, and was immensely relieved when, upon his arrival at Hogwarts, no-one poked fun at his name.

"I said, SHUT IT!" said the boy Al now supposed was Dudley Dursley, fists at his side.

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?" taunted Harry, remarkably similar to James.

"Shut your face," snapped Dudley.

"You don't tell _her_ to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddyums,' can I use them?"

Al recognized that Harry was provoking not just Dudley, but fate itself, and it was not going to end well, on any account, as he perceived the shaking of the pig's knuckles.

"So who've you been beating up tonight?" said Harry, sarcasm heavy in his voice, although his smirk soon faded into oblivion. "Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago…" His words hit Al: what was Harry Potter, head of the Auror Department, doing, messing with this felonious Muggle boy? Wasn't he the one who always urged James to stay out of trouble, convinced Al to avoid gangs as much as possible, and advised Lily to give dark alleys a wide berth?

Yes, his prejudice was downright mistaken.

"He was asking for it."

"Oh yeah?" Harry said sardonically.

"He cheeked me," said Dudley peevishly.

"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true…"

Dudley looked more irked than ever; this seemed to be emphasized by the twitching of his _musculatus levator labii superiosis alaque nasi _(common name: the muscle that helps you snarl). A small smirk of satisfaction sprouted on Harry's face.

The cousins turned into a confined alley which poured into a street that Al did not recognize.

"Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?" said Dudley moments later.

_What thing?_ Al demanded mentally, wishing he had the Invisibility Cloak to sneak closer unnoticed.

"What thing?" Harry retorted a few seconds later, not as questioning as Al.

"That- that thing you're hiding."

_Dad's wand…_

Harry's smirk grew wider. "Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time…"

Apparently, Al underestimated his Dad's desperation for some magic.

As Harry pulled out his wand, thoughts blared through Al's head like electricity. _That's crazy, _he thought, shaking his head. _You'll just get kicked out. You don't want that, do you? You shouldn't, _he pleaded with his Dad in his head.

"You're not allowed. I know you're not. You'll be expelled from that freak school you go to." Dudley was, for once, right.

"How'd you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?"

_He doesn't. But I do. Stop lying. Get out of trouble. The last time they changed the rules was 1791._

"They haven't," said Dudley, certainty absent in his voice. Harry chuckled.

"You haven't the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?"

"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen for your information, and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait until I tell Dad you had that thing out-"

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"

_Don't,_ mouthed Al futilely; he was all but invisible.

"Not this brave at night, are you?"

"This _is _night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this," said Harry satirically.

"I mean when you're in bed!"

_Why would Dad not be brave in bed? _Al wondered, doubting the quality of his hearing. _He defeated the _freaking_ darkest wizard of all time!_

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave in bed?" asked Harry, bemusement evident in his tone. "What- am I supposed to be afraid of pillows or something?" He had a very good point.

"I heard you last night. Talking in your sleep. _Moaning_."

"What d'you mean?" Harry echoed, despite the strangely horrified look blooming on his face.

"'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric- your boyfriend?"

Al perked up at the mention of Cedric…_Cedric…Cedric…_

Cedric Diggory, a war hero of some sort when his Dad was fourteen. He wasn't Harry's boyfriend…He just was the only person with Harry when he faced Voldemort once…

"I- you're lying-"

"'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad!HarHH Boo-hoo!'" In Al's opinion, the voice was a bad knockoff of _his_ Dad's.

"Shut up. Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you," said Harry quietly, like he always did with James when he was _really_ angry.

"'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to-' _Don't you point that thing at me!_"

Harry was pointing his stick of holly straight at Dudley's chest, driving the latter backwards to the wall.

"Don't ever talk about that again," he growled. "D'you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said, _do you understand me?"_

_"Point it somewhere else!"_ Dudley retorted, rather unwisely.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

Al flinched; he so rarely witnessed Harry so angry, even James hardly did. _Lily_ had never seen Harry angry and would probably be perturbed by this particular sight for days. Al would also have difficulty forgetting the aforesaid prospect.

"GET THAT AWAY FROM-"

The temperature of the night seemed to have dropped to a meagre ten degrees centigrade (which was saying something, considering the day had been the hottest of the summer, according to the news). Dudley shuddered; Al looked wildly around for anything which might have triggered it. Of the three, only Harry seemed to be acquainted with the sensation, and even he seemed to be the most agitated.

Al didn't see anything.

His surroundings became curiously akin to ice in temperature, the street became peculiarly silent except for long and unnerving breaths Al would later realize he was much mistaken to assume to be Dudley's. The sky shed its cloak of stars and revealed its coal-black robes, which blanketed Al's eyes, but worst of all was the sense of dread which coursed through Al's veins like electricity through a copper filament. He vaguely wondered whether his Dad had cast any spell, then it occurred to him that Harry wouldn't risk expulsion for his own pleasure; that was too much like James, and besides, why would he make the sky dark? That was too much like Scorpius. And Harry was not the type of person to cast spells on people to cast them into the arms of despair, which was precisely what was happening to Al now. Every pleasure was dissolving from where he could bring it forward like sugar in coffee, only every bit of joy that disappeared didn't make his current situation happier at all, only gloomier.

"I'll t-tell Dad! W-where are you? What are you d-do-" Dudley's voice snapped Al to the current situation and he continued looking around hopefully, as if he would be able to discern whatever caused the sudden changes in the atmosphere, but no such luck.

No matter how much Al squinted or widened his eyes, he could not see anything- nothing- it was pointless; there was no light- _light_-

His hands found his wand in his pocket. There was no point whispering.

_"Lumos."_

The ray of light his wand emitted seemed to alert Harry that there was another person of magical descent nearby, but as of the moment, this didn't seem to matter to the older Potter too much; he was trying to shush his cousin.

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed. "I'm trying to lis-"

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut-"

There was the unmistakable sound of flesh against flesh and Al's eyes made out the outline of Harry, who had staggered and plummeted to the ground.

"You moron, Dudley!" Harry's voice was irked but hinted that its owner was terrified, or so Al believed.

There was the sound of the stumbling of heavy feet, and then Harry's yell, "DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT! DUDLEY!" Apparently Harry recognized this as a lost cause, because he altered his next call: "KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!" Panting, Harry looked back at Al. "You're a wizard?" Al nodded mutely. "Can you- dementors- I dropped my wand-"

Al cleared his throat and found his voice. "Dementors-" he fumbled through his head for any information on the never-been-discussed topic- "I can't cast a Patronus- don't even know the words-"

"I'll have to tough it out, then," said Harry through gritted teeth. "Help me find it," he said, not quite a request.

Nodding vigorously, Al directed the light somewhere near his father's right hand, by chance landing on the slender rod of wood oft called a wand.

"Thanks," said Harry swiftly as Al bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "Why-"

A sudden wave of cold, like a waterfall of freezing water, over them interrupted whatever Harry had been about to say. Al felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he finally saw what the threat was: a hooded figure about eight feet tall, with no visible mouth but drawing in those unsettling breaths, hovering above the ground, never touching it.

Harry and Al stepped backwards in unison.

"Think- something happy-" Al wasn't sure if Harry was trying to instruct him or simply trying to command himself. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Silver tendrils of vapour curled out of Harry's wand and the dementor backed away, but the spell didn't seem to do what it was supposed to and soon the dementor was advancing towards them once more, like a graceful tiger pouncing on its prey.

Al's throat constricted as the dementor approached, various dreadful thoughts sprinting through his mind. How many times did he hear Lily scream, watch James tortured, and his parents die? It was just like his nightmares- his worst fear, as Harry had drilled into him about how important it was, was _losing his family_. But here he was, after all, standing with Harry, and he at least had to try. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ he echoed. Any vapour he produced was invisible, but the fact that he repeated the action seemed to ground Harry.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_ a slighter strand of silver jetted from the end of the other's wand.

"Think," encouraged Al, basically just repeating his advice, "about something happy…Hogwarts, Quidditch, friends…"

Harry closed his eyes as if sifting through his memories. _"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

It paid off; a silver stag burst from the point of Harry's wand. Al was relieved, but he daren't lower his wand nor snap out of his tense stance, as the stag struck the dementor by its horns, and the creature of horror leapt away, beaten.

"THIS WAY!" Harry yelled at the stag, "DUDLEY? DUDLEY!"

Al was still trying to figure how to relax when the realized that Harry's job there wasn't quite finished yet.

The rattling breaths behind Al were more demoralizing than ever as he whipped around and grasped around his head for a good memory…his family's faces last Christmas reunion at the Burrow popped in his mind and he tried his best not to let go of the thought as he whispered, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

A jet of silver gas shot out of his wand. It wasn't enough, and by that time the presence of the dementor had rubbed off on him and a sense of despair was spreading over him like frost-

And then the stag was there, ramming into the dementor once more, and with a sense of finality, it glided away. The stars and streetlamps resumed to illuminating the street as if nothing had happened, and the temperature was slowly ascending to its original balminess. Al turned to Harry.

"Thank you," Al said sincerely as he eased his position.

And Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

"Nice to meet you," said Harry in an exhausted tone, extending his hand. "I'm Harry."

_How strange to be introduced to you._ "Call me Al," he said, shaking the cold hand of his dad.

* * *

"Well, isn't it strange, for one, that you saved my…er, life and I don't even know your age? What are you…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen?" There was an oddly hopeful tone in Al's voice as he said the last number that was hopefully ignored by Harry.

"I just turned fifteen last month," said Harry casually. He couldn't be missing that Al had frozen mid-step; Al, on the other hand, was missing his own motion; he was too horrified by the newest concept he had been offered. His Dad was freaking _younger_ than him? Perhaps it was only a few months, but the fact that he was younger than his own father made no sense and he grasped for a newer topic just to keep the conversation flowing.

"Who's Cedric?"

"I…" Harry looked up at him suspiciously from examining Dudley, who lay on the asphalt, whimpering. "You know about Hogwarts, don't you?"

"What Hogwarts?" Al lied futilely.

"But you said…" the befuddled look on Harry's face vanished as he turned back to his cousin. "Never mind," he said, looking pointedly at a batty old lady that came limping up to them.

Harry quickly stowed his wand back into his pocket, but the lady, who Al had assumed was a Muggle, snapped, "Don't put it away, idiot boy! What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to _kill_ Mundungus Fletcher!"

Al watched Harry's pretend-innocent face morph into a mask of utter disbelief.

"What?" asked Harry perplexedly.

"He left! Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he left, and now look! Dementors! It's lucky I put Mr Tibbles"- Al thought that if he had to have that name, he'd kill himself- "on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will _kill_ him!"

"But- you're- you're a _witch?"_ said Harry uncomprehendingly.

"I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight dementors? He left you completely without cover when I warned him-"

"This bloke Mundungus has been following me? Hang on- it was _him!_ He Disapparated in front of my house!"

_Thus the crack,_ thought Al.

"Yes, yes, _yes_, but luckily I'd stationed Mr Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr Tibbles came and warned me, but the time I got to your house you'd gone- and now- oh, _what's_ Dumbledore going to say?" she suddenly seemed to realize the presence of two other boys in the immediate area. "You!" she snapped at Dudley, still recumbent on the alley Floor. "Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick! And you," she addressed Al in a slightly less frantic voice, "wizard? Good, good…" she said, not waiting for an answer.

"You know Dumbledore?"

"Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come _on_- I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag-" she yanked one of Dudley's ham-like hands in an attempt to heave him up- "Get _up_, you useless lump, get _up_!"

"I'll do it," Harry volunteered in a drained voice as he hauled Dudley up on his feet; the moment he let go the Dursley rocked severely, sweat beads popping out on his face.

"Hurry up!" cried the woman frantically.

"I'll help," offered Al as Harry made another effort to support the boy, however heavier Dudley was, that being a considerable five times. Harry made no reply; he just bobbed his head briskly.

"Mrs Figg," Harry said in reply to Al's questioning look. "Thought she was a Muggle, but anyway…" he shook his head. "I s'pose each day offers us quite some enlightenment. Dementors and Privet Drive don't usually go in a sentence together. Wands out?" he suggested.

"Wands out," agreed Al.

"That's the way," said Mrs Figg in approval. "Never mind the Statue of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery…This was _exactly_ what Dumbledore was afraid of- what's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr Prentice…Don't put your wands away, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?"

Even with the support of two nearly identical fifteen-year-olds, Dudley was too heavy to actually _carry_. Harry attempted to coax Dudley into moving of his own accord, but Dinky Diddyums seemed reluctant to budge. It was even worse for Harry when Mrs Figg dropped Al off at her house on Wisteria Walk. Al, on his part, had been torn between leaving and helping the poor kid (did he really just call his Dad a _poor kid_?) back to Privet Drive.

Only when Mrs Figg snapped, "Oh, just get in, my cats don't bite," did he decide on getting in.

The cats, indeed, did not bite, but they did make the house smell like cabbage and, every few minutes, sent Al resentful looks, particularly when Mrs Figg got back and offered him a lemon drop.

"So," she said, "are you related to Harry?"

Al froze in the act of unsticking several lemon drops. "What?"

"You _do_ resemble each other," Mrs Figg pointed out. "Vaguely. You have the same delinquent looks about you, although it shows more in Harry, which is hardly a surprise, seeing what he'd been through…"

Al dropped the lemon drops on the coffee table. "What _has _he been through?" he asked impulsively, before it occurred to him that if he really was from there, he wouldn't have to ask. Then a bit of sheer inspiration surfaced. "You know, the _Daily Prophet _has been blaring rubbish these days, especially on the front page…" he hinted, remembering a distant conversation with Ronald Weasley.

"Oh, yes, they have," sighed Mrs Figg. "I guess you'll be finding out soon enough."

Al tilted his head quizzically.

"Dumbledore said that you'll be staying at the headquarters."


	3. 3: Rumors and The Headquarters

**Chapter Three**:  
Rumours

**[James]**

James was no Ravenclaw.

Even though he got reasonably good grades- somewhere oft along the line of 'Exceeds Expectations'- he regarded rules as something that would simply hinder him from making the most of his years in Hogwarts. Fred always joked that rules were the bane of James's existence and that in the end his vanquisher would be a library.

If so, James thought, he was surely shortening his own life, sitting here in the library for the entirety of the afternoon looking up whatever might occur to him, as if sifting through these old books would yield some information on the recent activities of his brother Albus, wherever he was.

It made sense, he reasoned to himself, that Al might be mentioned somewhere; for instance, he might be stuck in Ireland and had been penned down on the constantly being updated list of Wizarding names he was reading as of the moment. It itched somewhere at the back of his mind that the logical Al Potter would not give away his name for sake of privacy, but James did his utter best to ignore that thought.

Or perhaps he was just thirsting for something to hope for. There had been little developments since Harry was informed of the sudden disappearance.

An image surfaced to James's mind: Ginny crying hysterically, Harry comforting her, his face remarkably empty of emotion.

He shook his head vigorously and shut the book in utter irritation. He had no inkling where Al had ended up; there was no point, even Lily had pointed out the exact same thing.

On a remotely related topic, Lily had recently been avoiding the library like the plague. James had linked her sudden turn from one of her favourite spots in Hogwarts to the disappearance of the boy who haunted the restricted section's shelves every time he got a chance, for the sole purpose of irritating Madame Pince; or so James believed, Al would deny that he ever wanted to irk the librarian, with whom he was generally on good terms. James, of course, did his earnest best to ruin the image of Al in the doyenne's mind, while Lily used Al's good name to her advantage, e.g. getting a decent spot in the circle of Ravenclaw-worthy Gryffindors that dotted the common room per night and the hard-to-earn respect of Rose Weasley.

"Ah, Rose," James sighed cynically. "You seem to have wasted all your respect on Malfoy."

"Shut up, Potter," said a disdainful voice.

James twisted around to see the aforementioned girl behind him.

"Hey, cousin," he greeted.

Rose smirked at him condescendingly. "Trust me, James; you don't _want_ to see my wand."

James cocked an eyebrow at her. "So, in essence, you are admitting that you _do_ have a crush on Scorpius?"

Rose flushed a shade of scarlet a bit brighter than her red hair; it clashed splendidly with her blue eyes. "Shut up," she repeated, her hands poised to smack the back of his head.

The older cousin grinned, triumphant.

"Well," said Rose in a mock disappointed intonation, "Lily asked me to tell you something she overheard from a Slytherin during Herbology, but, oh well; you don't seem to be interested…"

"Lily got you to talk to me?" questioned James, startled.

"Apparently," said Rose, her voice heavy with acerbity. "And she said it might help you find Al." She dropped the sarcasm and took an abruptly more sombre tone. "She doesn't seem to want to get close to the library."

"I've noticed," James said in agreement, his companion's graveness reflected in his voice.

"Well, at any rate," continued Rose when it became evident that the Potter was not about to argue, "she wanted you to know that she overheard Millicent MacDougal say that Malfoy had been saying something about a former Death Eater or something like that who brought a time turner to Hogwarts…apparently that Death Eater escaped from Azkaban a few months ago…what was his name…?"

A name emerged from the murky depths of James's memory, something he heard Hermione Weasley scoff about… "Nott?" he suggested. When Rose nodded in recognition, he prompted, "What'd he do?"

"He brought a time turner to Hogwarts-"

James tilted his eyebrows. "And how does that relate to Al?"

"Let me finish," snapped Rose, "so Nott brought a time turner to Hogwarts the same night Al snuck out…"

"…and did Al meet him?"

"You're right," groaned the Weasley, "for the first time. And…I wish you weren't, James, I really do."

It hit the eldest Potter that Rose may be more affected by Al's disappearance than she let on. Al was, after all, her best friend since they were playing in the sand at Shell Cottage. James suddenly felt a wave of compassion towards the girl who, he just realized, had not given a sincere smile ever since that fateful day last week when it became plain that Al was no longer at Hogwarts. He staunched that sympathy immediately.

"And you think that…" James knew he was onto something; it was dancing around the edges of his mind-

"It's not a question of _where_ Al is, James. He won't be found anywhere now. No matter if you search the darkest cave, the deepest cavern, the highest point-

"He's not here anymore, _now_. Don't you get it?" she was blinking rapidly, as if she were on the verge of tears.

"He's travelled through time," said James, not quite a question as it was a statement that needed confirmation.

A sense of dread crept under James's skin, as if dementors were inching towards him, as Rose, ever so slowly, nodded in confirmation.

* * *

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix

**[Al]**

Immediately, Mrs Figg clapped her hand over her mouth.

Al, however, was only mildly accusative when he said, "Dumbledore knows about me? _That fast?"_

"I mentioned you," said the Squib, "I owled him right after the dementor incident." She dropped off, muttering something about cauldrons and brooms.

"I'm related to Harry," said Al bluntly. Mrs Figg raised her greying eyebrows. "All pure-blood families are interrelated, right? So we are…distantly or closely." He was somewhat proud of his statement; it wasn't even a lie.

"Oh," said Mrs Figg with a relieved laugh. "I thought…he wouldn't have to stay with those horrible Dursleys."

Mrs Figg would later claim that Al's face grew darker at the mention of the Dursleys. "What do they do to him?" he asked quietly.

"Well, when he was a kid, he used to sleep in this cupboard under the stairs," began Arabella Figg.

Al stiffened; Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, living in a _cupboard_? It occurred to Al that Harry might never have been honest about his pre-Hogwarts days. Come to think of it, he never mentioned them at all. His heart sank and settled somewhere in the region of his diaphragm, and it crossed his mind that feeling sorry for his father was downright creepy.

"What else?"

"He never seems to be eating enough," Mrs Figg recounted; Al wiped his face clean of any of the emotion that was presently bubbling up like a crudely brewed potion inside him. "And that Dudley boy- I've never met someone who is so horrible to Harry in such a _Muggle_ way." This statement brought the image of Harry just barely an hour earlier, trying to move the immobilized ball of a Dursley, to Al's mind's eye. That was no _light_ task, as Al had been forced to note, but Harry had done it for a cousin who seemed to bully him regularly.

She seemed to note Al's stupefied expression and said hurriedly, "But of course, Harry really hasn't been with the Dursleys for very long recently, you know, Hogwarts and all."

Al opened his mouth, as if to express his disbelief at the proposed story, when a silver phoenix burst through the walls and spoke in a voice Al assumed was the legendary Albus Dumbledore's:

_"Send Al to Number Twelve; use Floo."_ The phoenix dissolved soon after making this proclamation, leaving a quite understandably stunned Al, who had not known that Patronuses could utter human speech before.

Mrs Figg lifted her eyebrows. "That was rather…quick, don't you think?"

Al made no comment; he wasn't really sure if he wanted to stay at Arabella Figg's house or not: for one, it was _safe_ (and Dursley-free, yes), a quality that he was quite sure he wouldn't be able to find as easily in this time as in his, but did he really want to stay in a house full of cats? It would be pretty boring if he were to be asked.

When Al made no sign that he was about to reply, Mrs Figg mentioned that the Floo powder was in an old bottle of firewhisky that stood solely on the fireplace's mantel; Al thanked her briskly and walked up to the fireside, uncorking the glass bottle and chucking some of the emerald green powder into the flames, which immediately took on a green hue and rose up in little mushroom clouds; Al yelled, "NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE!" as he stepped into the fire.

Before he began spiralling in the tickling flames, though, he caught sight of Arabella Figg's face, looking somewhat startled, and for one horrifying moment, Al realized that she had not mentioned Grimmauld Place at all; he looked back and opened his mouth. It was much too late, and by the time he had caught a mouthful of hot soot, the fireplace in Wisteria Walk was gone and he was spinning further into the fire.

* * *

Al's head was tilted slightly as Dumbledore recited the litany that would serve as his cover story: apparently he was Alexander Prentice, a half-blood wizard who had previously been home-schooled by his mother, who had been paranoid about losing him after his Muggle father abandoned them, a few years after their wedding, when he found she was a witch. His mother had recently been captured by a gaggle of Death Eater hopefuls, and then Alexander had been offered the terrible news that she had been killed by Nott, an actual Death Eater, a few days ago. Dumbledore, who had happened to be in the scene of the crime, had informed Arabella Figg that Al was to arrive and be sent to Grimmauld Place via her fireplace's Floo stock. On Al's part, he had followed Dumbledore's instructions to go to Wisteria Walk as soon as possible by Knight Bus, and had happened upon Harry and the dementors in that vandalized alleyway.

"You're Albus Dumbledore," Al had stated when he first saw the man, who had nodded jovially, smiling. When Al had demanded why he was so _calm_, Dumbledore had replied, "I'm testing a theory." Then he had rattled off his theory- the fact that Al appeared seemingly out of nowhere, that Al was so distraught, and that the descriptions Arabella Figg provided matched Harry Potter's physical profile almost exactly, meant that Al was a time traveller- probably Harry's son. Al had been shocked, to say the least, at the incredible deduction of the man. Al had then managed to ask, "But you'll try- you'll try to get me back, won't you? You're… you're _the_ Albus Dumbledore. You're my best hope." And, sombrely, Dumbledore had said, "Of course. But it wouldn't be particularly easy."

Dumbledore, Al reflected while listening, was being considerably open-minded. He had accepted Al's claim that the boy was Albus Severus Potter, Harry Potter's future son (_Hmm, _Al had mused, _when you phrase it like that, it sounds weird_) without question the first moment Al told him after stumbling out of the fire into a room of what he had assumed correctly was Grimmauld Place, although the fact that he knew it was going to be Grimmauld Place (it was apparently a secret that the headquarters was there, and nobody had told Al), and Al's looks- almost precisely like Harry's- probably helped.

"But then," Al mumbled, "why didn't he notice I looked like him when he was fighting those dementors?"

"An excellent question!" beamed Dumbledore, making Al snap out of his train of thought.

"I- er-"

"I believe Harry tends to be distracted while fighting dementors; a few years ago Remus advised me that Harry's boggart was one, and that he gets quite horrified at the thought of ever having to battle them again."

"_Again? _But that would he be actually _horrified, _is it an overstate-"

"I expect he will tell you soon," said Dumbledore soberly. "But for now, let us not invade his privacy. Now," he said, appraising Al, "what should we do with you?"

Al, distracted as he was, did not reply (not that he needed to, after all, it was a rhetorical question). "Remus?" he said inquiringly, "you mean Remus Lupin?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, sounding rather surprised. "Don't you know him?"

Al wiped his face clean of emotion, and said, in a weak attempt at changing the subject, "Dad- er, Harry- he saw me, and he's perceptive enough to gather the basics of how I look like; we'd better make any disguise subtle, so that Alexander Prentice does not resemble Harry Potter but still looks the same."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed, but he did not press Al. "Alright, then," he said in a decided voice, "subtle does it."

Subtle indeed were the changes in Al's appearance when he was finally sent to be introduced to Sirius Black (who, according to Dumbledore, currently owned the place and was the only one who had the right to assign Al to a room): his hair was a notch less messy and a tad lighter, his eyes were toned down to a more mellow shade of jade green and their almond shape rendered nearly non-existent, his face shape was discarded and was changed in opt of an oval tapered at the chin, his seeker's build tempered, and come to think of it, his nose was a touch longer.

But at any rate, Sirius Black, who, Al had been told, was a close friend of his grandfather, who did not differ too much with Harry and thus Al in looks, did not suspect Al of being related to the Potters at all. Al was immensely relieved after figuring this out; he had been hoping to avoid all awkward questions at any cost, and Sirius was basically a dry run.

Sirius reminded Al remotely of his brother James, who had, coincidentally, been named after the guy. Al judged Sirius as a man who had previously been jovial and carefree, but had been sobered by a tragic incident of some sort.

"Alexander Prentice?" he inquired. Al eyed him, hoping that he was being paranoid and that Sirius did not really suspect him.

"Er, yes," Al said timidly, "Professor Dumbledore knew my mum; that's why I'm here right now." He anxiously hoped that he was being convincing.

He was soon thrown into relief as a ghost of a smile traced Sirius's probably once-handsome, now-gaunt features. "So, I'm guessing you like to be called Al, and that you're the kid who helped my godson out of a tight spot a few hours ago?"

This took Al quite aback. "What?"

Sirius barked a laugh which reassured Al even more, as the younger wizard had been doubting whether he ever did anything as sociable as to laugh anymore.

"Oh, Harry Potter, he's my godson," he explained, grinning fully-fledged now. "Mentioned you, the kid did."

"He has a godfather?" queried Al, startled. "I _did not_ know that."

This made Sirius sombre. "Nobody does," he said gravely.

* * *

Sirius had assigned Al to the same room as Harry, which, in Al's opinion, was somewhat inconvenient. Not that he blamed Sirius- the man had no idea how Al was linked to Harry.

"- he didn't want you to know _anything_." Hermione Weas- _Granger's_ voice was the first thing Al registered when he approached the door of what was supposed to be his bedroom.

"Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted." Harry's voice followed shortly; Al tried to construct whatever had been their previous conversation as he pressed his right ear to the door.

"Don't be thick." This was Ron's, sounding higher pitched than how Al remembered it.

"Or that I couldn't take care of myself-"

"Of course he doesn't think that!"

Harry's voice rose as he said, "So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in everything that's going on here? How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on- ?"

"We're not! Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young-"

Al sprang from the door at the first word he heard Harry shout.

"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN IN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT- WHO SAVED THE SORCERER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM DEMENTORS?" Al was effectively lost as he listened to the things Harry was yelling as of the present moment- as far as he could figure, Harry and Ron and Hermione had been together on basically every exploit they had-

"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME! BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?" There was a muffled argument from Hermione, but less than a second later Harry was bellowing again- "CAN'T HAVE WANTED TO TELL ME THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT _DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR_-" another argument- "FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S GOING ON, AND THE ONLY WIZARDING PEOPLE I'VE SEEN WERE MRS FIGG AND A KID I DON'T EVEN KNOW, AND I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER-"

"No, honest-"

"Harry, we're really sorry!" Hermione- "You're absolutely right, Harry- I'd be furious if it was me!"

Silence for a moment.

"What _is_ this place, anyway?"

"Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

Comprehension dawned on Al as he remembered one of the miniscule number of History of Magic lessons he ever listened to.

"Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix- ?"

"It's a secret society. Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time."

"Who?"

Al clapped his hands over his irritatingly big mouth.

Utter silence was heard; then Ron said in a hushed tone, "Reckon it's someone we know?"

"It was familiar," said Harry in a resentful voice.

"I don't think so," Hermione put in.

"Well, if they're in here, then we could trust them, can't we?" said Ron reasonably.

"I s'pose."

Al took a step back in an attempt not to get a face full of wood as the door was flung open and he was facing…Hugo?

"Al?" Harry's face broke into a small, involuntary grin, as if he had been offered a mildly pleasant surprise as he stepped out from behind Ron. "How'd you get here?"

"Mrs Figg," said Al, forcing his face muscles to smirk back at his Dad. "Didn't know it's legal for Squibs to be connected to the Floo network, did you?" He pretended to look up, as if he suddenly noticed Ron and Hermione. "Who're they?"

"Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger," Harry said, pointing at them respectively. Al gave a courteous half-bow towards them. "Ron, Hermione, this is Al… er…"

He looked at Al inquiringly.

"Oh, right!" exclaimed Al. "Alexander Prentice."

For a moment they stood there, observing each other quietly, and Al marvelled at how much Hermione and Ron resembled their children. Or rather, how much their children resembled them. He realized that it could go unnoticed only because of their age differences, but now that they were basically the same age, he could plainly see that they might be mistaken for twins.

Ron was simply a more reckless-looking version of Hugo. The grin he donned, however, was so similar to his son's that Al hurt his head just thinking about it.

Hermione was Rose. They had the precise same mannerisms and an identical air that spoke of intelligence just when you laid eyes on her. The only differences Al could identify as of the moment were the colours. Rose had blue eyes and bright red Weasley hair; Hermione, on the other hand, had warm brown eyes and a head of abundant mahogany strands. It was, Al reflected, as if someone had drowned a familiar painting of colour and then the same artist who had drawn it coloured it in with shades of brown.

_This isn't that bad, _Al thought as he was later invited into the room, _maybe my luck isn't that horrible after all._

How very wrong he was.


	4. 4: Inklings

**Chapter Four**:  
Inklings

**[Al]**

"He's got me!"

Al looked away and tried to tune out the present conversation; that is, if you could call it a conversation: it slowly ascended to being a full-blown argument. He had no desire to watch another of the apparently calm, collected and mature people in his life burst out once more, which happened to be the very same thing that Molly Weasley was about to do. His harmless want to be filled in with the basic facts of the current year (after all, he hadn't been around for much before that) had been answered to by this discussion, and he had to admit, it was not helping the least bit, and neither did listening to long rants on how his father was _not a child_.

He had gotten somewhat used to arguments like these, though this was just his first night: there had been one with Mundungus Fletcher, George and Fred, and now Sirius. It was now a well-known fact that Alexander Prentice (who had been quickly accepted by the few Order members who were constantly at headquarters, inclusive of the older Weasleys, Sirius, and Remus Lupin and Tonks, who had dropped by) loathed being in a room with too much noise inside it, and disappointingly enough, nearly all rooms in Grimmauld Place were filled with noise pollution.

"Yes," said Al's grandmother in a firm tone, as if she were dealing with an impertinent teenage boy (more commonly known as James). "The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him, while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

And it clicked into place in Al's head.

_Sirius Black. Azkaban._

Sirius Black was a prisoner in Azkaban who escaped. He was later caught and almost subjected to the dementor's kiss (Al shuddered) but he did yet another runner. He was later discovered to be innocent, but that was only after-

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," Remus said swiftly when Sirius made to get on his feet, effectively breaking Al's train of thought. "Sirius, sit _down_."

Al was now paying rapt attention. His grandmother's lower lip was quivering; Sirius sagged down his chair once more, face ashen.

Seeing this, Remus persisted, "I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this. He's old enough to decide for himself."

_Very true,_ Al agreed mentally.

"I want to know what's been going on," said Harry instantaneously.

There was a brief silence in which Al finally had time to absorb the scene: the now unusually quiet ginger Weasley children, among which were the still grinning twins- Fred and George, who looked strange with both ears- Bill, who was locked in his tensed sitting position, his face miraculously clean of scars, a far less solemn Ron, who was absorbed in watching the present set of circumstances, and lastly- it was as if a chunk of lead had slipped down Al's intestinal track when he saw her- a much younger, unscathed, innocent Ginny, who resembled a wide-eyed Lily Luna Potter, was viewing the scene with a look of attentiveness etched on her face, and the technically-Weasley Hermione, who was sitting, practically radiating attentiveness.

"Very well," his grandmother said, voice breaking, "Ginny- Ron- Hermione- Al- Fred- George- I want you out of this kitchen, now."

Without delay, there was pandemonium.

A cacophony of complaints from the younger Weasleys blocked out all other sound; Al would have been very surprised if someone in London didn't hear them had the protective charms been off.

"NO!" bellowed Molly, eyes flaring. "I absolutely forbid-"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George; they _are_ of age-"

She rounded on her husband. "They're still at school-"

"But they're legally adults now," said Arthur resignedly.

She flushed. "I- oh, all right, then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron-"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" said Ron vehemently. "Won't- won't you?"

There seemed to be a silent exchange between Ron and Harry; for a fleeting moment Harry looked like he was about to say no and for a brief second Al had a terrible vision of himself without knowing Hugo and Rose- "'Course I will," assured Harry; a few seats to his right his son sighed in relief.

"Fine! Fine! Ginny, Al- BED!"

Harry opened his mouth as if to argue, but Al quickly shook his head and signalled that he was perfectly fine with it. (Besides, he had a suspicion he'd be finding out soon, anyway.)

Al thus followed his mother, who currently happened to be _younger_ than him, up the stairs, upon which she flounced up, muttering about what would happen to them once she perfected the Bat-Bogey Hex. Al allowed himself a small smile but made no move to communicate with Ginny- just knowing _this_ version of Harry was enough to destroy space-time continuum; it was enough trouble without adding more.

Of course, as the son of Harry Potter, trouble tended to find Al.

* * *

The clank of Owl Treats hitting the bottom of the owls' cages alerted Al, who had been feigning sleep, that Harry and Ron were back.

Al shut his eyes tighter and turned to face the wall- to give them privacy? To stay discreet? To make sure he existed? He wasn't exactly sure.

"We can't let them out to hunt every night. Dumbledore doesn't want too many owls swooping around the square, thinks it'll look suspicious. Oh yeah…I forgot…."

The sound of the door being locked reached Al's ears, which were pricked for the slightest whisper.

"What're you doing that for?"

The light disappeared as Ron said, "Kreacher. First night I was here he came wandering around at three in the morning. Trust me, you don't want to wake up and find him prowling around your room. Anyway…_What d'you reckon?"_

"Well, they didn't tell us much we couldn't have guessed, did they? I mean, all they've really said is that the Order's trying to stop people joining Vol_demort_," Harry emphasized after Ron gave a gasp, "When are you going to start using his name? Sirius and Lupin do." Al suddenly felt like laughing: his current situation was admittedly ridiculous in contrast to the mounting threat of Lord Voldemort in 1995, but to be afraid of a name was simply…absurd.

"Yeah, you're right. We already knew nearly everything they told us, from using the Extendable Ears. The only new bit was-"

There was a _crack _that declared someone had just Apparated into the room.

"OUCH!"

"Keep your voice down, Ron, or Mum'll be back up here. Besides, you wouldn't want to wake your lovely new roommate up, would you?" Al could almost see George nodding in his direction and Ron scowling.

"You two just Apparated on my knees!" said Ron reproachfully.

"Yeah, well, it's a lot harder in the dark-" Fred defended.

The bedsprings creaked as George and Fred leapt off Ron's bed.

"So, got there yet?" asked George impatiently.

"The weapon Sirius mentioned?" questioned Harry, inadvertently sparking Al's interest.

_Weapon._

_That never cropped up in History of Magic,_ observed Al, making a mental note to look it up in _An Updated History of Magic_. Then he remembered that that probably hadn't even been published yet. That didn't exactly extinguish his curiosity, though, and for the rest of the night Al lay awake in bed, pondering over whatever that weapon was. He tried to sleep or even _pretend_ to be asleep, but neither worked (not that his fifteen-year-old father's shifting in the neighbouring bed helped much, anyway), and when morning came he was unspeakably drowsy.

The doxies hummed as Al passed, vaguely wondering how this house ever became the Grimmauld Place he and his cousins stayed in during the occasional reunions. Kreacher looked at him as if he just appeared covered in muck, but Al skated over the offending glare he received. He absentmindedly speculated whether Harry was already awake while eating a quick breakfast (the guy had been sleeping as if he was under the Draught of the Living Dead), nearly choking himself with a bit of toast, having forgotten to chew it.

No sooner than he had finished his plate of toast and scrambled eggs had Molly called, "Al, come and help with the curtains, will you, dear? Everyone's busy; I thought you might want something to do."

Grimmauld Place had never seemed as…_grim_ as it looked like as Al tied on a handkerchief in preparation for ridding the drawing room curtains of the pesky doxies. It felt almost normal (this was done on occasion in the more lonely rooms of the Burrow, such as Fred and George's), but the strangely pleasant event was soured when the twenty-six year younger Ginny, Hermione, George, Fred, and later Harry and Ron joined him.

"Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxies bite and their teeth are poisonous," his grandmother said in a manner not unlike James's when he gave pep talks before particularly tricky Quidditch matches. "I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it."

"When I say the word, start spraying immediately. They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good spray will paralyze them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket." She raised her own spray as though handling a gun and said, "All right- _squirt_!"

It had only been a few minutes after Al had started spraying when a remarkably large doxy surged right at him; he restrained it at once with a face of Doxycide, but another, much smaller doxy was able to bite his arm not far from his elbow. He gave a yell of surprise and pried it away without delay. He was somewhat, inexplicably, pleased to see that both Harry and Ginny glanced his way before resuming to attacking the curtains, despite the fact that he wasn't sure whether to treat them as his parents or just a couple of peers (he had a great suspicion that the latter was more appropriate, though).

His elbow felt as though it had caught fire; he gave a sigh of relief when his grandmother (whatever_, Dumbledore, I'm only calling her that in my head_) dabbed some of the slightly stinging, but otherwise pleasant-feeling antidote on it. He noted that he should never, ever randomly attack buzzing curtains. _And creepy cabinets,_ he added quickly as his grandmother hinted that they were going to deal with them later.

The doorbell clanged; Al must have been the only one who didn't look to his grandmother (he was warily eyeing a sparkling bottle of what looked quite a bit like blood).

"Stay here," he heard her saying over the din the screaming portrait of Mrs Black below was making (Harry never seemed to be fond of that painting; that didn't seem to have changed over twenty-six years and Al couldn't really blame him). "I'll bring up some sandwiches."

"Mundungus!" exclaimed Hermione as she peered through the window, around which everyone except Al was crowding around. "What's he brought all those cauldrons for?" The word 'cauldrons' cast an _incendio _on Al's memory.

"Wasn't that what he's been doing when he was supposed to be on Harry's guard? Loading up on his stock of stolen cauldrons?" asked Al, untying his handkerchief while he had the chance.

"Probably looking for a safe place to keep them," Harry speculated.

"Yeah, you're right! Blimey," Fred added, "Mum won't like that…."

As they continued to peer through the window, discussing the activity downstairs, Al snuck away, hoping to get a few seconds by himself and ponder how he was not to ruin the present timeline-

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!" Al flinched and tried to tune Molly Weasley's voice out; Fred rushed past him and pulled the door open an inch or two wider.

"It makes such a nice change," Fred said conversely, as though continuing a conversation.

"- COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOTTEN ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE-"

"The idiots are letting her get into her stride. You've got to head her off early, otherwise she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry- and there goes Sirius's mum again-"

"- CHILDREN OF DIRT, BEFOULING THE DWELLING OF MY FOREFATHERS, MUDBLOODS CONTAMINATING OUR ABODE-"

George was about to shut the door, but before he could, Kreacher came skirting in.

Al was amazed as a startled look spread on Harry'sface, as if the (technically) older boy had never before seen the house-elf that was to be his someday. Come to think of it, Harry probably didn't even know that Kreacher would be his and by the look on his face as of the moment he certainly wouldn't like the prospect. But as long as Al could remember Kreacher had been keeping Potter Manor clean for ages, even before James was born.

"…Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do…."

"Hello, Kreacher," Fred greeted the house-elf in what was obviously the loudest voice he could muster that wasn't a shout.

"Kreacher did not see Young Master," he said, doing what Al assumed was supposed to be a bow; rather, it looked like a very painful bending of the backbone. "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"Sorry? Didn't catch that last bit," said George, sounding somewhat irked.

"Kreacher said nothing," said Kreacher, doing another stiff backbone-bend, this time towards George, before adding in a perfectly audible monotone, "and there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are.

"…and there's the Mudblood, standing there as bold as brass, oh if my Mistress knew, oh how she'd cry, and there go those new boys, Kreacher does not know their names, but how they look like each other, oh yes, they do, Kreacher wonders if they are twins, like those abnormal little blood traitor spawn-"

Al stiffened and felt his face paling, as though a layer of frost was spreading over his skin in the middle of summer, his heart fluttering in his chest. He suddenly felt like whipping out his wand and silencing this _Kreacher_ with a well-cast _silencio_ before he busted Al. He threw a quick glance over the others; they seemed too busy with Kreacher to ponder the house-elf's observation, although Al found himself wishing that he was just imagining that Hermione had frozen in thought.

Kreacher, as though completely oblivious to Al's reaction, continued muttering, "- Kreacher does not know their names, what they are doing here, Kreacher doesn't know…"

A few long, tense moments passed, as Al tried to heave several breaths, his chest seemed to have constricted. _Someone noticed I look like Harry,_ he repeated over and over, trying to do the impossible and calm down. Did seconds pass, minutes, hours or several days? Al had absolutely no idea, but he knew that the _first clue_ had slipped and that surely, surely, they'd notice the similarities as well, if Kreacher saw it, and it wouldn't take much reckoning for them to draw the correct conclusion, wouldn't it?

Finally, Hermione spoke.

"These are Alexander Prentice and Harry Potter, Kreacher," said Hermione in a kind but hesitant tone, making Al relax and get rid of his worry.

It would later turn out that Al's suspicion had been right and that Hermione had gotten some sort of hunch, and he would also regret that he had ever let down his guard. But as of the moment, none of them knew that 'Alexander Prentice' has much more to his story than what the Order currently suspects.


	5. 5: Witness

**Chapter Five**: **  
**Witness

**[Al]**

The next few days swept past without any remarkable events. Al's grandmother kept the entire lot of them busy for most of the time, ridding the house of the vermin inside it. The drawing room took nearly three days to clear. The doxies posed a problem, but Molly didn't let Al near any of them (Al suspected that she still felt responsible for the doxy-biting-him incident). With all of the other problems (e.g. the dead puffskeins, the strangling robes, the evil grandfather clock and music box, the unicorn-hide bag which nearly ate Hermione, the various crystal phials of acid-like poisons which caused several robes, wood Floorboards and even metals to smoulder), however, Al was happy to help.

In the rare occasions that he had spare time, he spent it trying to cheer up and take his mind off things like being stuck in 1995, an extremely difficult feat. One would certainly find difficult to forget a situation like this, after all. If anyone else was in his place, and they were coincidentally (or maybe because of their bad luck like Al, whatever) stuck in the year when one of their parents was the _exact same age_ as they were.

The atmosphere in the house, he had gathered, was nothing like the general cheerful mood the Weasleys bore several decades into the future. Al had correctly assumed that the 'Voldemort is alive and could ruin our lives in a moment's notice' thing was taking a toll on their cheeriness. Even George- and Fred- were halfway serious.

He had been very surprised to learn that Percy wasn't on good terms with the rest of the family. In turn, the past family was pretty much unsurprised that he didn't know. He had momentarily amused himself with a picture of Lucy saying, "Well, I suppose you couldn't really blame Father for acting like that, since you would never know whom to trust in times like those, I'd say that if I were in his place I might have acted the same way." Molly- Molly the second, that is- would reach over to slap Lucy's arm and say, "If Al is telling the truth, he has a point, Dad was a prat back then."

Apparently, Percy wouldn't be re-joining the rest of the Weasleys until during the Battle of Hogwarts (as it was historically known). Al almost let this slip in a short, awkward conversation with Harry late into Tuesday evening.

(A general background of that particular Tuesday: it had been filled with an action-packed battle involving a community of (admittedly adorable) puffskeins that stubbornly refused to leave its home on top of a shelf which was meant to hold books, which they found nearby, looking thoroughly doxy-chewed, a scandalized Hermione, a length of supposedly unbreakable rope, a pot of pepper, and a doting Li- _Ginny_.)

Al had been very relieved when Harry didn't seem to notice what he had nearly let slip. The conversation would had died down quickly, anyway, seeing as nearly immediately after he had (nearly) told Harry that, Molly Weasley knocked at their door and called, "Al, you're needed downstairs."

Harry's scowl told Al quite plainly that he didn't like this. This sight disturbed Al immensely, and he was grateful for the excuse to leave the room at once.

He was turning to the stairs just as he heard Mrs Weasley say, "Harry, dear, you may want to go to sleep by now, it's past eight o'clock…." Al smiled at the thought of whatever comebacks Harry might think up at this as he descended the steps.

The drawing room was nearly empty when Al came in. There were a few recognizable faces- Hestia Jones, Elphias Doge (from pictures), Minerva McGonagall, and a pink-haired woman he established to be Teddy's mother, and Teddy's dad, Remus Lupin, who was speaking in low, rapid tones to Albus Dumbledore, who beamed when he saw Al. "Ah, here he is."

Remus took this as a cue to stop talking. He mumbled thanks to Dumbledore and then rushed out of the door. The creaking of the door's hinges could not disguise the distinguishable _crack_ that was made during Apparition.

"How do you do?" Dumbledore asked, in a merry but low tone, as Elphias Doge looked up interestedly.

Al had been about to say "Fine," but he couldn't bring himself to fib (he'd done that already and was beginning to get sick of it). "Awkward," he managed.

"It's a pleasure to see that you have not renounced honesty, despite the fact that you're living a lie," said Dumbledore approvingly.

"Er-"

"Now," said Dumbledore, perhaps sensing an awkward moment ahead, "I have a favour to ask." Al opened his mouth, but Dumbledore's blue eyes pierced him, and he thought it best not to argue.

* * *

In the dim moonlight which filtered through the grimy window, Al could make out the general direction towards which the hands of Harry's watch, which he had conveniently forgotten to take off the night before, were pointing at. If he saw correctly, it read _3:27_- too early to wake. But Al was in that fine line where you didn't want to wake up but didn't want to go back to sleep either, and since waking up was the better alternative to going back to sleep on this particular day, he decided that risking waking up at seven o'clock was just… stupid.

Thinking bitterly of how utterly _unfair_ it was that he just _had_ to be_ effing_ stuck in _1995_, he pried open the door and crept down the corridor to the stairs, hoping that he didn't wake anyone up.

"Up so early, Al?"

He turned and faced Mrs Weasley, who had an armful of clothes in her arms.

"Good morning, Mrs Weasley."

"Dumbledore sent a trunk overnight," she said conversationally, "with some clothes and a bit of money. Apparently, it's for you."

Al felt his face colouring- he'd been wearing some of the Weasleys' spare clothes over his stay.

"Thank you- but how did you get my size?"

"I've been dressing seven kids, Al. Don't tell me you think I'm not that experienced in this," but she shot a glance in his direction that suggested otherwise- _probably_, Al thought, _she just based it off Dad's size._ It made sense- after all, they were pretty much the same in stature.

Al found himself looking at the bundle of clothes and offering, "I'll take Harry's clothes."

"Oh, no," she tried to decline, but Al scooped up the shirt and jeans.

"Thank you," she mouthed.

"No problem," he said, turning back to where he came from.

After he hurriedly arranged the clothes at the foot of the slumbering Harry's bed, Al found the trunk at the foot of _his_ bed and scavenged through the contents; there were indeed enough clothes inside. The money bag contained only Galleons; Al didn't bother counting them.

Al found a pair of jeans and a shirt amid many robes; he extracted them and squeezed into them in haste.

By the time he arrived at the drawing room, the once-evil grandfather clock read _4:02_. The room was as deserted as it had been last night- there was only Molly and Arthur, and Sirius and Remus, who were talking animatedly, like the pair of old friends they were. This was the first time that Al saw Sirius when the latter wasn't bored; Sirius's air was like James's- light and joking. Al turned away before he actually felt homesick.

Molly was at the stove; this didn't surprise Al in the least. She was frying up at least half a dozen scrambled eggs; he thought it best not to disturb her.

That left Arthur, who was sitting at the dining table, a little afar from the Marauders (James had found the story deeply amusing when Harry told the story of the troublemakers, Al reminisced) looking younger than ever. Al grinned and greeted him, "'Morning, Mr Weasley."

"Hello, Al," he acknowledged, smiling tiredly. "D'you sleep well?"

"Fine," replied Al.

"You're supposed to witness today," chided Arthur. "How is Harry supposed to get off if his witness is bad?"

Al grinned wider, "I s'pose he'll have Mrs Figg as well."

"Ah, Arabella," he nodded, "she's not very convincing, if you know what I mean."

"Of course," said Al.

Teddy's mother chose that moment to enter the room; her hair was in golden ringlets today and Al entertained himself for a moment by imagining Teddy with that sort of hair, in place of his usual turquoise or teal.

"'Morning, Nymphadora."

"Just Tonks, Arthur," she corrected. She yawned widely, which gave Al the impression of a carefree woman. "So," she addressed Al, "you're the new kid?"

"Yeah, I-I guess I am," said Al, shrugging.

"How'd you ward off those dementors?"

"That wasn't me," said Al, startled. "That was all Harry; I only just helped him find his wand."

"Well," began Tonks, as Al noted that she had dark circles underneath her eyes.

"Are you ready to witness, Al?" interrupted Arthur; Tonks sent him a grateful glance as she struck up another conversation with Remus.

"Er-"

"This is serious," said Arthur unnecessarily. Al shifted, wondering whether Ron had gotten his lack of tact from Arthur. He had to admit that it was a likely possibility.

"Yeah," Al mumbled. _Thanks for reminding me that I could go and ruin the entire space-time continuum, Grandpa, very thoughtful of you…._

"What you say could save Harry or obliterate his chances of even getting back to Hogwarts, and we all know how much he needs to finish his education," Arthur continued (_Thank you so much for ruining my day even more!_ Al thought sarcastically).

"I know," said Al sullenly.

Al later regretted acting so surly. This was when Harry finally decided to wake from the dead and pop up and in turn kept a hostile front. It was, as Al reflected, the first time Harry ever mentored Al in the past, and the fact that it was by being a bad example did not help make a good impression.

The journey to the Ministry of Magic was, unlike what Al had expected, by train. In his humble opinion, it would have saved much time to Apparate or go by Floo, but he wisely chose to keep silent.

It was heart-warming, though, that some things never change.

"Simply fabulous," said Arthur, nodding towards the automatic ticket machines (Al prayed that the Muggles wouldn't notice). "Wonderfully ingenious."

Al allowed a small smile to land on his face at least until his fifteen year old father pointed out, "They're out of order." The tiny smirk was effectively wiped off Al's face by the fact that he was still undeniably in 1995.

His mood was definitely not improved by the fact that they had to go by the out of order telephone box that was only one of the many Ministry entrances.

_"Dad, why are we passing here?" seven-year-old Lily asked Harry, eyeing him questioningly, as the Potter family, sans Ginny (who was busy at the _Daily Prophet_ and had left the kids with Harry), jammed themselves into the telephone box, ignoring the curious Muggles' eyes. (After all, this was a _telephone box,_ and they were old by 1998.)_

_"For once, the girl has a point," said James, his voice sounding muffled. "Why here?"_

_"I don't think it works," Al pointed out._

_But Harry just smiled knowingly and dialled in…_

"…Six…two…four…and another four…and another two…." Arthur muttered.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," said the all-too-familiar female voice, "please state your name and business."

Arthur held the receiver upside down as he said, "Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing, Alexander Prentice, who's here to witness for Harry…."

"Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

Harry hurried to take the badge from the coin chute. Al was on his tail, but he shook his head and passed Al his. Al supposed this was because Harry did not want the crammed space to be even more uncomfortable, a fair reason.

_Alexander Prentice, Witness,_ was engraved on the silver square. The fact that he had lied about his name was now slowly sinking into Al, who had not had a chance to let it be absorbed by the house of people who called him by his actual nickname. Feeling rather guilty, he pinned the badge to the front of his brand-new shirt.

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

The Floor shook, just like it did several years ago (or was it several decades later? _I hate verb tenses, _Al thought). The elevator sunk into the ground and darkened as it did. Al braced himself for the light that had made his eyes water the first (and only other) time he had gone to the Ministry, but it was as bad as the first time around.

The pleasant woman's voice's last words, "The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," had never seemed so ironic.

As Al walked down the familiar hall, an almond-sized lump formed in his throat. This was his dad's workplace, and yet his dad was standing right beside him, looking very young, and was gaping at the splendidness. Al couldn't blame him, but he had managed to overlook the splendour the second time he walked the hall and was as of the moment more interested in the changes in it (or whatever was the appropriate word for something that was going to be changed, but hasn't been changed yet).

The only difference Al could spot so far was the fountain at the middle of the hall, golden and glittering and depicting the very unfairness that Hermione Weasley campaigns against. As far as Al could tell, it certainly wasn't accurate- neither centaurs nor goblins would look up at wizards and witches so admiringly; only the house-elf was given justice. Even the witch and wizard weren't exactly true-to-life, Al noted as he compared the statues' smiling, dignified-looking faces to the actual faces of the witches and wizards passing by him. The real-life faces were- in sharp contrast to the statues- scowling or gloomy. Al decided that he hated the fountain.

"Over here, boys," said Arthur, guiding them away from the path of the Ministry workers and towards a desk, which, Al read on the sign above, was the **Security**.

"Good morning, Arthur," said the smiling wizard sitting at the counter. "Escorting some visitors?"

"Morning, Lewis," Arthur replied. "Where's Eric?"

"I think he was called to help with the census of underage wizards- it's not really usually that messy there, I expect they lacked people," Lewis cracked a smile. "I guess they finally found a good place for him, though, he wasn't a terribly good security wizard."

"True," Arthur agreed.

"Step over here, will you, Mr…?" Lewis squinted at Harry's badge, before it darted up at where Al knew Harry's famous lightning scar rested. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Right then, Mr Potter," Lewis said, suddenly very brisk. He drew out a golden rod- a probity probe? Al wasn't sure- and checked Harry. "Wand." Lewis held out his hand and, when Harry handed the wand to him, dropped the wand on a balance-like contraption. The balance spewed out a slip of parchment, which Lewis grabbed and read out.

"Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core"- Lewis's eyebrows lifted- "nice and supple, been in use for four years. Is that right?"

"Yes," said Harry, sounding uneasy.

He thrust the wand to Harry and skewered the piece of parchment on a brass spike. "You next, Mr Prentice," said Lewis as he picked up the probity probe to check Al. "Wand." Al, very unwillingly, handed it to Lewis.

"Eleven and one-fourth inches, ash, phoenix feather core, slightly yielding and"- Lewis looked mildly surprised- "only works for the owner."

Al accepted his wand, feeling awkward under Lewis's scrutinizing gaze. (_What's wrong with that? It's not like Ollivander said that was an uncommon quality….)_

"He's good at his job, Lewis," said Arthur fondly, "he also knows some wandlore, which makes him even more qualified."

"He's just not that friendly," put in Harry, whose mood had clearly been soured by the encounter.

Arthur looked startled. "He's actually one of the better chaps around here," he informed.

"Then I'd not like to see the worse ones," said Harry flatly.

"But of course," Arthur said, ignoring Harry's last comment, "even the better people believe the _Prophet_."

"That hag, Skeeter, you mean."

"Well," Arthur shifted uncomfortably, "it's not just Skeeter now. The entire _Prophet _is entertaining others"- _Those who are stupid enough to believe them,_ Al translated- "at your- and Dumbledore's- expense."

"Great," said Harry, "just what I wanted. More trouble."

Al was glad he was just being sarcastic- he didn't need both of his parents to remind him- painfully- of his siblings.

He tailed Arthur and Harry through the horde of bustling personnel. He could tell that they were having as much trouble as him. He wondered exactly _why_ the organized Ministry of Magic had a crowd inside like this as he was shoved aside by a stressed-looking man in bottle green robes.

However, he didn't have much time to wonder. Arthur led the two younger boys to one of the many lifts. The golden grilles which stood in front of them interested Al, as he didn't ever remember seeing them there, before he was pulled into the lift by Arthur.

Al was squeezed onto one of the lift's walls (he couldn't tell which).

"Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office." Al caught a fleeting look of a corridor with pictures of several Quidditch teams and made a mental note to tell his older brother how it looked like- James was vying for a spot in Ludicrous Patents- before he remembered that he would probably not be seeing James soon.

"…Oh, and Corner, contact the Department of Mysteries, will you? The head reckons he has a hunch he has to discuss," a wizard- Al recognized him as the one who had elbowed him in the crowd earlier- said, addressing a similarly robed witch. Al rolled his eyes and shuffled away from the green-robed man as the lift doors opened once more.

"Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Centre," announced the woman's cool voice.

"See you, Kieselguhr- I have to attend to, you know, the underage splinchers," added Corner as the man in bottle green robes, Kieselguhr, raised his eyebrows. Kieselguhr scowled.

"Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats."

Al fervently wished that more wizards and witches would get off- _Please_- but only a few got out and the lift was as crammed as ever.

"Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."

"'S'cuse," said a wizard carrying a cardboard box. Al did not want to think about what was in there- with his luck, it would be a fire-breathing chicken.

"Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee."

Most of the witches and wizards left the lift at this point, save Arthur, Harry, and Al, and a witch who was a secretary of some sort, judging from the remarkably long parchment she was reading.

"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

Al's stomach gave a lurch as he stepped out of the lift.

He was standing in an incredibly familiar corridor- a place where he stood in when he was nine, twenty years later. (Come to think of it, the sentence before this one was completely nonsensical.)

Harry's workplace.

But then, Al had to remind himself, Harry was fifteen years old and standing beside him, unfamiliar with the place. This did not make sense, either, and Al distracted himself before he went insane with all those confusing time travel questions.

That one, he suddenly recalled as they walked past a pair of mahogany doors, was where Hermione Weasley campaigned for elf rights. And that one was where Harry and Ron worked….

To his surprise, he was pulled into the Auror Headquarters.

Arthur led them towards a cubicle where a witch was spiritedly talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the future Minister of Magic. Al had seen him several times at Grimmauld Place, but had never actually interacted with him. Nevertheless, he was quite surprised to hear him speak to Arthur as though he did not know him; Al was pretty sure that he and Arthur went along excellently.

"Morning, Weasley. I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?"

"Yes, if it really is a second. I'm rather in a hurry," said Arthur as they followed the Auror into the cubicle at the very end of the row. The look on Harry's face as he took in the walls, which were entirely masked by pictures of Sirius Black, was ideal blackmail material.

"Here," Kingsley shoved a magazine to Arthur, "I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle." Slowly, Al pieced together the puzzle: Kingsley, he figured, was setting the Ministry on the entirely wrong route to look for Sirius, who, he remembered, was supposedly a criminal who'd blown up a street of people.

"Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting," Kingsley said in an undertone. And then, in a possibly staged bossy attitude, "And don't take too long, Weasley, that delay on the firelegs report held our investigation up for a month."

"If you had read my report you would know the term is 'firearms.' And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles, we're extremely busy at the moment. If you can get away before seven," Arthur added in a whisper, "Molly's making meatballs." Then, with a sly smile, he gestured for the two boys to follow him.

Al expected Arthur to lead them to _his_ workplace, yes, but it had never occurred to him that Arthur had ever been in an office so small (he supposed Arthur would be promoted within the next decade). The **Misuse of Muggle Artefacts** office, as it read on the worn plate on the door, was so small that Al was afraid to get in and overturn the heaps of files.

"Well," Arthur said, smiling slightly apologetically as both Al and Harry hesitated at the door, "come on in then."

"You first," Al told Harry in a monotone. Grinning nervously, Harry sidled into one of the two chairs, while Al seated himself on Harry's desk, careful not to disturb the heap of parchment on it.

Arthur chuckled as he examined the contents of the magazine Kingsley had passed to him earlier. "Ah, yes…Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing- oh dear," he said as a purple airplane settled on top of what looked like a toaster on Arthur's desk, "what's this now?"

Arthur unfolded it and read aloud, clearly exasperatedly, "'Third regurgitating toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately.' This is getting ridiculous…."

"A regurgitating toilet?" said Harry interestedly.

"Anti-Muggle pranksters," Arthur said in a tone that indicated that there was no more need for any more discussion. "Ah- Perkins!"

A wizened man with cottony hair broke into the room, gasping for air.

"Oh Arthur!" he exclaimed, "Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait for you here or not, I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it- an urgent message came ten minutes ago-"

"I know about the regurgitating toilet."

"No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing- they've changed the time and venue- it starts at eight o'clock and it's down in old Courtroom Ten-"

"Down in old- but they told me- Merlin's beard-"

From his stuttering, Al knew that they were in trouble, and he jumped off Perkins's desk.

"Quick, we should have been there five minutes ago!"

Arthur charged out of the room, both Harry and Al half a step behind him.

"Why have they changed the time?" panted Harry.

"I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it it would have been catastrophic!" Arthur said as he attacked the down button near the lifts. "Come ON!"

The lift shuddered to a stop. They rushed inside, Arthur in the lead.

"Ugh-" he muttered, pounding on the button nine. "Those courtrooms haven't been used in years. I can't think why they're doing it down there- unless- but no…"

Several people poured into the lift. Arthur cut off the conversation immediately.

"The Atrium," said the female announcer's voice, and a pair of bottle green-robed personnel rushed out, looking hassled. A witch with a lethal-looking potion got out, only to be filled in by a pallid wizard and a woman, tapping her feet. Al recognized her to be Corner.

"Morning, Arthur," greeted the sickly-looking wizard. "Don't often see you down here…."

"Urgent business, Bode," Arthur said agitatedly, as he punched at the number nine button.

"Ah, yes. Of course."

"Department of Mysteries," said the witch's cool voice.

"This is us," Arthur said, as the lift doors clattered open and Corner and Bode stepped out.

It was totally unfamiliar to Al. The only point of interest in the corridor was a very simple black door at the opposite end of the corridor. Arthur led them towards that end, but they did not go through the door, as Harry expected, as was very clear on his face. Instead Arthur tugged Harry and Al around a corner, where a dreary-looking staircase lay. It looked as though it had waited a very long time for them to descend it.

"Down here, down here," said Arthur, gasping for breath. "The lift doesn't even come down this far…_why_ they're doing it there…."

Al leapt to the bottom of the stairs and followed them down the equally bleak-looking corridor.

"Courtroom… ten… I think… we're nearly… yes."

Courtroom ten looked indeed like it had not been used in ages. It was depressed and gave Al a sense of impending doom. This was his fault, after all- if he had not gone _effing_ back in time, Harry would probably not need to do this.

"Go on, then, Harry," gasped Arthur. "Get in there."

Harry looked expectantly at Al.

"I'll follow you when they tell me to," said Al, reciting what Dumbledore had told him.

"R-right," said Harry apprehensively, looking remarkably like James when he was caught sneaking out of detention. He clearly wanted to protract the last few seconds that he would not be in the courtroom, as he dragged the rusting iron handle very slowly. Al could not blame him.

Arthur pulled his features in what looked like a brave attempt at a smile, but ended up as a grimace.

"Well, best be off, then, Al," he said. "Good luck."

And he turned and headed down where they had come from, leaving Al in the empty corridor with only the thoughts he had ignored for company.

Arthur's steps echoed down the corridor. Echoing… echoing… and suddenly Al was very sure that it wasn't just echoing anymore.

Albus Dumbledore stormed down the corridor.

Though the situation was somewhat strange- you not born or _existing_ yet, one of your _dead_ namesakes flouncing up a dimly lit corridor in the Ministry while you were standing there and your _fifteen-year-old_ Head Auror father inside a courtroom attending to a _hearing_- Al could not help but feel very relieved.

"Good morning, Al- do the clothes fit you well?- excellent," said Dumbledore, sending Al one last glance as he slid the courtroom door open easily.

Rather disconcerted, Al pressed his ear to the door. He waited with bated breath to hear something, anything.

Nothing.

The door, apparently, was Imperturbable to eavesdroppers. Al was fairly sure that normal courtrooms were not Imperturbable, nor were they set in dim dungeons. Then again, since when was _Harry James Potter_ normal?

Al probably would have gone back to the door and pressed his ears onto it once more if he hadn't realized that it was open and that a bob of Weasley red hair was in the doorframe.

For a moment Al paused, confused, because after all, why would any of the Weasleys be here, now? Arthur had left less than ten minutes earlier and now, this too-young-to-be-a-man but too-old-to-be-a-teenager _guy_ was here with a head of what was clearly Weasley hair.

Al quickly compared his pompous stance to that of each of his cousins and found that he was a perfect match for Lucy, albeit he didn't have her distinctive blonde hair.

This, he decided, was Percy, who he now remembered was a prat at the moment.

"Come in," he said in a self-important tone, reminiscent, again, of Lucy, as he beckoned him to come in.

The courtroom went deadly quiet as Al stepped into it. He glanced up at the multitude of what he could only assume were the warlocks and witches of the Wizengamot. The warmest welcome he received was from Dumbledore, in the form of a conjured chintz armchair. Al glanced at Harry and noted that he was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair with chains on the arms. Al did not want to think about what those chains did.

"Full name?" said a cold voice belonging to a stocky man Al did not recognize. As far as he could tell, though, this was the leader of the Wizengamot.

"Alexander… Charlus Po- Prentice…."

"And who exactly are you? Harry Potter's twin, I suppose?"

Al looked at him in dislike. "I'm actually an immigrant," he corrected coolly, "from America." There was some muttering at this.

"With an English accent?" said a fluttery, girlish voice from the stocky man's right.

Al was taken aback; he hadn't expected this question. "My mother's family came from England," he invented wildly. "They kept their accent." This was not even untrue.

"And I suppose you're going to tell us that you went to Salem Academy of Witchery?"

A chuckle rippled through the throng of the Wizengamot.

"No," said Al defensively, "I was home-schooled."

"Blood status?"

"Half-blood."

"Very well," said the portly man, "very well. You should leave details with Weasley; we don't want an unregistered underage wizard like you running rampant in the Muggle world, changing caps to rabbits. Now," he said, "your story?"

"Er," Al began, "It was the second of August, at about nine in the evening. I was walking down Magnolia Crescent, and I turned into an alley leading to Wisteria Walk-"

"Why would you want to go to Wisteria Walk?" interrupted a striking witch near the very back.

"I was supposed to go to Arabella Figg's house to use her Floo network to get to the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts-"

"I don't think that's relevant, Ms Friare," interrupted the monocle witch. "Do continue, Mr Prentice."

"Er, so I turned into an alley leading to Wisteria Walk and saw dementors gliding to two boys from either end of the alleyway." _Two 'boys' twenty-six years older than me, but yes, two boys…._

"And the dementors, what did they look like?"

Al swallowed and conjured a picture of a dementor to mind, trying not to remember the sensation.

"They were about eight feet tall, with these long, ragged cloaks, and they hovered above the ground, you couldn't see their feet… it was eerie…."

The witch's monocle was threatening to fall out now. "Describe how you felt when you were near them."

_Ugh._ "The air was suddenly cold… like ice… and all the joy was gone from the world… and all the stars and lamps went out… and I saw… things I wish would never happen… my worst nightmares…." _A tortured, high-pitched scream was emanating from Lily as the unclear figure raised its wand and smiled cruelly… James was on the Floor, thrashing in pain, his face covered in cold sweat and he was shrieking a wish to die… Harry was holding his wand aloft, shielding Ginny from the shadow which loomed over them, a flash of green light…._

Al gripped the arm of his chintz armchair, suddenly wishing it were a bit less soft. _Dad's here and he's alive._ Fifteen years old, maybe, but he was alive, and as was Ginny. James and Lily, on the other hand….

The monocle witch's eyes were as wide as Galleons. "What did the dementors do?"

"They went for Harry and Dudley," Al said, glad for the excuse to stop thinking about those horrible dementors. "Dudley was running towards a dementor. Harry's wand had fallen, he couldn't find it…. I helped him look for it. Harry was trying to repel the dementor. He attempted two times and produced silver vapour, then he tried again and conjured a Patronus, a stag."

"And then…."

"And then the stag charged the dementor closing in on Harry. Then, prompted by Harry, it hounded the one that nearly Kissed Dudley. Afterwards, it saved me, too," he added as an afterthought.

An oppressive silence stilled the air in the courtroom. Al felt as though he had just cast a spell and was waiting for something to happen. But the portly wizard only fiddled with papers, and the rest were shifting in their seats.

Finally the balding, pudgy man said violently, "That's what you saw, is it?"

"It was what happened," said Al, quietly. _It's not my fault I'm here, _he wanted to shout at them, _I only helped with my _effing_ fifteen-year-old Dad's hearing while remembering seeing possible ways an older version of him could die. I shouldn't even be here and if I could get back to where I should be, I would._

The pudgy man sneered at him. "Very well," he said, "you may go. Weasley," he said, nodding at the male version of Lucy that immediately scurried down the stone steps.

Al lingered at the doorway, waiting for Percy to catch up with him.

Percy was panting slightly when he caught up- _just like Arthur,_ thought Al- but he drew a length of bleach white parchment and an expensive-looking eagle feather quill with an air of pride all the same.

"Full name?" he said in an official-sounding voice.

"Alexander Charlus Prentice," Al repeated.

"Blood status?"

"Half-blood."

"Birthdate?"

"January fourth… 1980."

"Mother?"

_Your sister, Ginny._ "…Virginia West. Pureblood."

"Father?"

_Oh, that kid, exactly my age, sitting right over there on the chained chair? That's my Dad, yeah, the defeater of the Dark Lord._ "…Harold Prentice."

"Muggle, I suppose?"

Al didn't reply. Percy just nodded.

"Thank you. You may leave now."

Percy Ignatius Weasley was later found staring blankly into space, trying to figure out exactly why Alexander Prentice donned such a knowing expression- as though he had known Percy all his life, though the ambitious young man had only ever met him now- before stepping out of the courtroom.


	6. 6: Wounds Better Closed

**Chapter Six**:  
Wounds Better Closed

**[Al]**

For the second time, Albus Severus Potter was starting his fifth year.

Al inwardly sighed as he climbed into a horseless stagecoach, not really paying any attention to with whom he was sitting with.

"Oh," said a familiar voice, "you were with Harry in that compartment, right?"

Al blinked and realized that Ayumi Haibara's much younger mother was talking to him from his left, flanked by two other girls. She was, like her daughter, rather nice-looking, but it didn't make Al interested in her. Al had only ever seen her twice- on a Hogsmeade weekend, in front of the Three Broomsticks and drinking Gillywater with Ayumi, and in the Ministry, talking politely about the weather to Harry.

"Sorry?" he asked as politely as he could muster. "You're"- he racked his brains for her name- "Cho Chang, aren't you?"

"I'm glad you noticed," said Cho Chang, as the girls at the leftmost part of the coach began giggling. "This is Marietta Edgecombe and Tallulah Twigg." She had, Al noted with some surprise, a Ravenclaw's prefect badge. He had assumed she would be a Hufflepuff like her daughter. "You seemed pretty distracted in that compartment."

Merlin knows how much Al had been _distracted_ by his thoughts. He had only even looked up when Neville _Longbottom_, his Herbology professor, had coated them all with some kind of reeking, dark green slime, and when Draco Malfoy had entered the compartment.

To be frank, after that encounter, Al had no idea how Scorpius had ever made friends with Rose. Draco clearly harboured resentment towards 'Mudbloods'. Al had never heard _that_ word before, but it was obviously insulting towards people of Hermione's birth. He supposed it was one of the things about the past that hadn't survived to reach his time.

_"Hello?"_ said Cho Chang loudly. Marietta Edgecombe and Tallulah Twigg giggled again. Al blinked. "Your name's Alexander Prentice, right?"

"No, it's-" Al cut himself off before he could spill, coughing. _Your name's Alexander Charlus West Prentice, remember that._ "I mean, call me Al."

"All right, Al then," said Cho. "When did you meet Harry?"

"Just this summer," said Al as he watched Draco Malfoy frighten a meek-looking boy to line up at the Black Lake with the other first years.

Cho looked somewhat disappointed. "Oh," she said, before adding in a hopeful tone, "Do you know if he likes coffee?"

Marietta Edgecombe and Tallulah Twigg smiled meaningfully at each other.

Al immediately saw where this was going. "No," he said at once. When Cho cocked her sculpted black eyebrows, he elaborated, "You are _not_ going to go out with him."

Cho's face went cold. "So what if I would?" said Cho, challenging.

"It'll never work out," Al said promptly and certainly.

"Well, for your information, Harry asked _me_ out to the Yule Ball," said Cho heatedly, "and he admires _my_ Quidditch skills!"

"_What_ Yule Ball?" asked Al, nonplussed.

"Oh, right," said Cho, narrowing her already slit-like eyes at Al, "_you_ weren't able to watch the _most important_ competition of the _century_- the Triwizard Tournament!"

Marietta and Tallulah gasped in unison, as though really shocked that Cho had mentioned _it_, as they probably called it in their heads, and Al, incredibly irked by these girls, made to leap off the carriage and look for one of the Weasleys', Harry's, or Hermione's own stagecoaches (although he honestly expected them to sit in just one coach). But he was a second too late; the rough rocking of the carriage sent him toppling back to his seat beside Cho as it began to move towards Hogwarts.

And so Al was stuck beside Ayumi Haibara's fuming, teenage mother for the entire duration of the trip towards Hogwarts. Marietta kept sending Al resentful looks and Tallulah spoke in a low voice to Cho- probably comforting words. But Al didn't care anymore: Harry belonged with Ginny and that was going to stay like that as far as he would be concerned.

What troubled him was that Harry and Ginny had been acting only as friends for the past few days and his presence _might_ cause his family to be wiped out of existence.

Al's eyes wandered to the window. They had apparently already passed the pristine Hogwarts gates and the scene flicking by them was now the Forbidden Forest. The forest was James and Fred's favourite spot within the grounds as far as Al could figure. He looked for the lights of Hagrid's cabin, but he didn't see them and so he assumed that they'd already passed it.

Would he be sorted again? He probably would, so as to maintain being realistic. Though he had already been put into Gryffindor, he fervently hoped that he would not be put into Ravenclaw- it would be sickening to deal with Cho Chang everyday- or Slytherin. If anything, he wanted to be put into Gryffindor, where the rest of his family had been and always will be, again.

The stagecoach swayed to a halt in front of the front door and a very relieved Al jumped quickly out of the carriage and ran up the stone steps to the oak doors. They were the first to arrive and when Al pushed open the front door he was very surprised to see his headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, standing behind it.

"Mr Potter?"

"Albus Potter," he said, so quietly that he could see McGonagall making an effort to read his lips. "Does everyone know?" he added, conscious of Cho, Tallulah and Marietta behind his back.

"Of course not," said McGonagall, studying him. "You look just like your father," she remarked.

"I've heard," said Al.

"Entrance Hall, behind 'Perkins, Anita'," commanded McGonagall, "and _quickly_, if you don't mind, Mr Potter."

Al grinned at her and stumbled into the room with the first years.

"Hello," he said awkwardly as they stared at him. Feeling like a giant, he took his place behind "Perkins, Anita" and ignored the whispers that ensued.

"You're Alexander Prentice, right?" said a girl about one and a half dozen places in front of him.

The whispers stopped.

"Yeah," said Al. "How'd you know?" he asked, feeling more out of place than ever.

"I'm Leila Friare," she said, and now that Al got a better view of her, he saw that she looked incredibly like the Ms Friare that had questioned him during the hearing- same icy eyes and pale but distinctly pretty face. "My mummy's in the lower spots of the Wizengamot. She told me about you. You're an immigrant from America, right?"

"That's about right," agreed Al.

"D'you know how we get sorted?" asked Anita Perkins in a whisper.

"Is it true we have to fight a dragon?" added a boy near the very back.

"But I thought you were a pureblood, Yaxley? Why don't you know?"

More whispers. Al supposed they had a right to be scared- this was _their_ first time to be Sorted- but he just couldn't recall the feeling he had when he first was here in this line.

"As far as I know you just have to put on a Hat," assured Al.

"I _knew_ mummy was lying!"

"Shh!" hissed Leila Friare, and they fell silent as they heard McGonagall's footsteps. The door was flung open.

The atmosphere grew denser as McGonagall gave them the pointers on the houses. Al let his attention wander elsewhere. Wasn't he _here_, as well, when he was eleven? Four years ago, and yet twenty-two years in the future- it was impossibly confusing.

_If this is like this, _he thought, _then I'm also aged negative eleven._ He had a feeling he would eventually get used to thinking like this.

He felt his sleeve being tugged. "Hey, Alexander," said Anita's voice. "We're going now." She sounded terrified.

They were herded into the Great Hall.

The Sorting Hat stood on the stool just like Al remembered it. He hardly caught any of its song- just something about unity- and before they knew it, "Abercrombie, Euan" was already hurrying down Gryffindor table.

"Bailey, Charlotte!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Benson, Kenneth!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Bergamo, Pierre!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Chad, Wilbur!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Dmitri, Gregor!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Friare, Leila!"

Leila staggered up the stage and she set her jaw as the hat's rip opened:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Leila palmed her face and laughed as she ran to sit beside Euan.

The line in front of them seemed to deplete until Anita was sitting on a stool waiting for the Hat to decide: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Whispers were circulating throughout the Great Hall as Al climbed up to the Hat. Al was felt a sense of déjà vu loom over him as he picked up the Hat and set it on his head.

_Hello,_ he told it.

_Fascinating, _said the Hat. _Very intriguing… You've already been sorted into Gryffindor._

_That's about right. Could you keep it a secret?_

_I've never seen a mind like yours before._

_And you never probably will again. Until you Sort me twenty-two years later, I s'pose._

_Yes… but do you want to change house for the time being? To avoid… let's say… awkward moments?_

The hat could really see Al's mind.

_Nah- you see, I think Slytherin's common room is too creepy, Cho Chang is in Ravenclaw and quite honestly I can't picture myself in Hufflepuff._

_Well then, best of luck to you, Albus Severus Potter, and let's hope you find home in this time in _GRYFFINDOR!

He sighed in relief as he took off the hat, then placed it gently back on the stool (he was quite sure it was used to being tossed around by first years), before hurrying down to where Harry was patting a spot next to him.

"They're staring," murmured Harry.

"I'm pretty sure it's just me," said Al, trying not to feel the guilt that broiled in his stomach, "I'm much too old to be sorted."

"Well, you can't help it," said Hermione, who leaned towards them, "it's not like you could go back in time and fetch your younger self to get sorted."

Al made no reply; he merely watched as "Totters, Montgomery" was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Hermione seemed to understand that he did not like the way that she had stated it.

Rose Zeller, with her kind face, was sorted last, into Hufflepuff; Dumbledore had spoken; and finally Hu- _Ron's _cravings for food were going to be satisfied. Heaps upon heaps of food had appeared on the table. Ron was the first to reach for the food.

"Dishle hitious," Ron said enthusiastically through a mouthful of roast potatoes. Al caught Hermione's eye, and he noticed that she seemed to be trying hard to keep from rolling her eyes.

"I think he's saying that the food is delicious," said Al quietly. Hermione wasn't supposed to act like this; she was, theoretically, the most patient of the Weasleys when dealing with Ron.

"Right, because the only thing that Ron cares about is _food_," he heard her mutter. This made him grin; at the very _least_ Hermione still cared about Ron.

"Ayton husht cairbout food."

_Pointless,_ thought Al as Hermione turned to Nearly Headless Nick.

"What were you saying before the Sorting?" she asked. "About the hat giving warnings?"

Al turned to his mashed potatoes and began half-heartedly digging into it. Harry glanced at him, rather disapprovingly.

_Oh, seriously, Dad? You can look at me like that? You seemed much more patient when James nicked the Marauders' Map from your desk drawer-_

The map!

Almost everyone sitting at Gryffindor table turned as Alexander Prentice's fork clattered loudly onto his nearly empty plate.

Al's stomach clenched as he remembered. The map would show his real name and then what? It would be next to impossible to stay here without any awkward moments and then-

"Excuse me," Al said as he rose from the table. He glanced up at the faculty table, and saw Dumbledore give an almost imperceptible nod that meant that he was excused.

Everyone would assume he had gone to the bathroom, of course. The general knowledge that Al was a 'new' student would disguise the fact that he had gone for a short walk towards nowhere in particular.

What was he supposed to do?

_Should I tinker with the Map?_

No, idiot. You can't do that- the Map is probably protected by spells or something. Besides, they're perceptive enough to realize that 'Alexander Prentice' isn't on the Map and that your name's crossed out, they'll figure out that you're hiding something as quick as you can blink.

_What am I supposed to do, then?_

Change your name permanently.

_That's moronic._

It's better than crossing out or changing your name on the Map!

_Only Rose has got the brains to- wait._

Al's mind whirred as he snapped to himself, _you idiot! The Map's too big; your dot's too small. Simple, really: they won't see you as long as they're not looking for you. Remember how that rat-_

Peter Pettigrew?

_-yes, whatever, Peter Pettigrew, stayed as a _rat_ in Uncle Ron's bed and went unnoticed for five years while Uncle George- and Fred- had the Map?_

Whoa, that sounds wrong.

_I know._

Al found himself in the courtyard, which was bathed by moonlight. An owl hooted in the distance, and Al turned back to retrace his steps towards the Great Hall of 1 September 1995, where the students were busying themselves by tucking in pudding. Even Draco Malfoy was cutting up a portion of a palet d'Or with considerable enthusiasm.

"Hello," he said a little too airily as he sat beside Harry.

"Where've you been?" said Harry somewhat suspiciously as he set aside his fork.

"Er- bathroom," Al fibbed. "I got lost."

"You got here just in time for dessert," said Ron as he stretched his arm for a magnificent cheesecake halfway across the table.

Hermione was cutting up some flan in offended silence. Ron seemed to remember something, and didn't speak for the rest of the meal; rather, he gorged himself with the cheesecake. Al rolled his eyes and reached for the treacle tart in unison with Harry. Al quickly drew back his hand.

"Were they bickering?" Al asked Harry sympathetically.

"Yes," said Harry as he held up a tart to his mouth.

Déjà vu was threatening to swallow up Al again; he was all too familiar with Rose and Hugo's parents' quarrelling. He reached for a chocolate éclair and, like Ron, succumbed into silence.

He looked up at the staff table to take note of the year's array of teachers, so that he would not be embarrassed the next day. There was Dumbledore and McGonagall, whom he presumed would be teaching Transfiguration (he didn't know whether being in the same class with his Dad or being taught by his headmistress would be more awkward). He recognized his namesake, Severus Snape, from the portrait in the Headmaster's office. Al had been told that Snape was an exceedingly brave man, but he did not fancy the way Snape stabbed at his chocolate cake. A witch with flyaway hair and dirt on her fingers was enjoying lemon meringue pie. Al supposed she was 'Professor Sprout,' whom Neville had mentioned back on the train. There was Professor Vector and Professor Sinistra, who still taught Arithmancy and Astronomy in Al's time, and Charity Burbage, whose name was on the War Memorial under **Personally Killed by Voldemort**. There was Sibyll Trelawney, whom neither of his parents ever discussed, Grubby-Plank, who often substituted for Care of Magical creatures, Professor Flitwick, and an exceptionally familiar witch-

"Hey!" Al exclaimed, "Isn't that-"

"That's the witch beside Fudge during that hearing," said Harry, nodding. "Umbridge, I think her name was."

"Rings a bell," commented Al.

"Yeah, I think they mentioned her name during the hearing."

But Al was definitely not thinking about the hearing; he was thinking of Ron, who would say the name _Umbridge_ with disgust.

"She's going to be a terrible teacher," said Al without a doubt. "What's the Minister thinking, putting her here at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, Fudge doesn't think," said Harry distastefully.

Al blinked. "What?"

"You're not reading the _Daily Prophet_, are you?"

"No," said Al. Then, hesitantly, he added, "Should I?"

"Definitely not," said Harry as he offered Al a considerable portion of his plate of treacle tarts, grinning.

* * *

Al woke facing the scarlet-and-gold canopy of his four-poster bed. No sunlight bathed the Lion emblem and Al, seeing that it was still very early in the morning, turned and buried his face into the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to remember what he had been dreaming about so he can get back to it. It was a strangely intricate dream and he was sure that what had happened in it had been quite strange as well. For some reason, he had been riding in a carriage with Ayumi Haibara and then got sorted again, and ate treacle tart with his inexplicably young-looking father.

Al shut his eyes tighter, straining his memory. What had happened?

"_Oi_, Al…."

_That'll be Benjamin, _thought Al as he struggled to pull himself to the land of the awake. He and his siblings, James and Lily, were quite fond of the younger Thomas son.

"Al! Wake up! Today's the first day and if Hermione catches us late we'll be slaughtered!"

As Al's drowsy mind laboured to understand what he just heard, Al managed to croak out, "What?"

"Get up!" Al assumed that the voice was Hugo, but why would Hermione be at Hogwarts? Another thing to puzzle over: Hugo never called his mum 'Hermione,' since Rose would kill him if he ever did.

Why was Hugo in the fifth year dormitories?

Hugo Weasley was in the third year right along with Lily. Because he valued his life, he never broke rules or at least was never caught doing so, lest Rose's prefect badge be put into jeopardy. He certainly would never go into the fifth year's dormitories, since Al was the other Gryffindor prefect. Of course, Hugo knew that Al would never grass out on him; Al valued his family's lives.

As Hugo shook Al's shoulder, Al wondered vaguely whether Hugo knew that Rose was at the very least _trying_ to practice Legilimency, just because she was awesome like that. Actually, it was because she wanted to know when Slughorn was planning to ambush the Weasleys or the Potters. Each of the Weasley cousins knew that they had to avoid Slughorn and only ever interacted with him during Potions time.

This time, a different voice came out at him. "C'mon, Al-"

Al sat bolt upright. That wasn't James! That was _Harry_, and Al's current situation came crashing back down on him like a tsunami.

"But it's still something like five in the morning," he protested.

"Er, no," said Ron. "It's a quarter past six, actually."

Al groaned and sat up. "But they should at _least_ cut us some slack- it's the first day!"

"Not Hermione, she won't," Ron said as he pulled on his socks. "Apparently, the first is the most important." He said the last part in a weak imitation of Hermione's snappy tone.

Snorting, Al pulled himself up and shifted his body so that he could reach his trunk from his bed. It wasn't the most comfortable option, but it was better than standing up- to Al, at least.

Harry and Ron left the common room together, with Al half a step behind. Hermione caught them in the common room.

"What's the matter with Harry?" she asked Ron. "He looks absolutely- oh for heaven's sake."

She had spotted a dominant sign pinned over the rest of the notices, announcing something about George and Fred hiring testers for their Skiving Snackboxes.

Al grinned, reminiscing about the large array of prank supplies that George had been able to think up over twenty years. He had not been aware that Fred had helped George with the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.

Breakfast hurried quickly after. The sound of owls entering the Great Hall to deliver mail to their owners comforted Al as he settled down and began working his way through his toast. He did not see Hermione shoot a curious glance at him.

Luckily though, Hermione did not have much time to ponder on Al's reaction, or rather lack of, to the arrival of the mail owls. A barn owl bearing a close resemblance to Al's own owl- Aurum- had fluttered down in front of her. Al noted that the bird was dripping and looked up to see that the sky above the ceiling was a stormy grey.

Al looked expectantly at Hermione for a few minutes before realizing that she was going to read the newspaper from front to back. Sighing, he returned to his ham sandwich and began picking away at the bread's crust.

By the time that Professor McGonagall handed him his schedule (with a knowing expression in her eyes), Al was already hurrying to eat the last chunks of the sandwiches that were on his plate. This was highly inconvenient, since as soon as he saw the class for third period for Monday he began choking on the bread.

After hurriedly gulping down several mouthfuls of orange juice, he managed, "Why exactly do I have _Divination_?" He shook his head disbelievingly. Al studied Ancient Runes back in his time and _hadn't he mentioned that to Dumbledore?_ He racked his brains yet could not recall ever talking about Hogwarts classes to his namesake. _How could I have been so _stupid_?_

"What's wrong with Divination?" said Parvati Patil protectively from a few spots farther up the table. Al had not realized he had spoken so loudly.

"Er- my Mum never taught me Divination," improvised Al, "I took Ancient Runes."

"Good choice," said Ron gloomily. "The professor's an old fraud," he added under his breath.

"Definitely," said Hermione as she emerged from behind the newspaper. Ron blinked at her.

"Nothing," she added at Harry's questioning look. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything. Stroke of luck, isn't it?"

Apparently it would be the only stroke of luck Al would have the entire day, what with a schedule with History of Magic, with Binns, the ever-boring, Divination, which Al had no idea about, and Defence Against the Dark Arts, which Al normally enjoyed but was sure would be hell what with that Umbridge woman teaching. Al, though, had high hopes for double Potions, which was stationed on second period.

But of course, before Potions there would be History of Magic. There were few occasions that Al- or any of the Weasley cousins, inclusive of Rose, for that matter- listened to History of Magic and that only when the Second War was being discussed, and since there was no chance of _that_ happening, Al would have been pretty happy to sleep. That is, if Hermione Granger was not there.

Contrary to popular belief among the members of Wizarding Britain, the Weasley cousins did not know more about the Second War. In fact, they were all in unspoken agreement that they knew marginally less than the average person. After all, whilst anyone else could pick up a random book about the War, the Weasleys couldn't without any awkward moments with their parents. After all, how are you supposed to answer "What's that you're reading?" with "Oh, it's a book about how your brother Fred lived and died"?

_Bad thoughts, Al…._

His luck did not tip up much after History; rather it seemed to droop lower than the Floor.

Al had been lingering near Harry, Ron, and Hermione, just because he had no idea who else he would hang with. His mouth was actually tilting upwards at the corners because of the familiarity of Ron and Hermione's bickering, when he spotted someone familiar but did not make him want to grin wider.

Cho Haibara- Chang for now- rounded the corner and Al felt his mouth twisting into a scowl.

"Hello, Harry!" she said brightly. Al was despising her more by the nanosecond.

"Hi," said Harry, flushing, and Al thought, _Dad, are you _nuts_?_

"You got that stuff off, then?" _And she doesn't even know what _Stinksap _is called!_

"Yeah," said Harry. Al knew enough about the faces of the Potters to see that the grin on Harry's face was forced. "So did you… er… have a good summer?"

"Oh, it was all right, you know…."

"Is that a Tornadoes badge?" asked Ron. Despite his obvious tactlessness, Al tossed him a credit in his head. "You don't support them, do you?"

"Yeah, I do," said Cho. Al wondered (in a tone that would have been considered rude if he did not use it only in his head) how this girl was ever sorted into Ravenclaw. With her evidently sinister motives, Slytherin would have been much more fitting.

"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" _The Tornadoes _actually _won the league once? _Al wondered. Back home, the Tornadoes were considered something like sissies, a thousand times more so than the all-female team, the Holyhead Harpies, who his mother had once played Chaser for.

"I've supported them since I was six," Cho said unkindly. "Anyway… see you, Harry." With a curt nod at Al and a small smile to Hermione, she turned on her heel and Al decided that he would much rather have Ayumi around than her disagreeable mother. At least Ayumi was _a thousand times kinder, friendlier, more understanding_… and basically every good value that was out there, as opposed to Cho.

For some reason Hermione and Ron were bickering again by the time that they were in front of the Potions dungeon. Slughorn handled Potions as Al knew it, and Al was usually able to cook up an Outstanding, so that he had a good impression on the subject. In fact, he was bounding on his heels as they waited for the door to open, even if no-one else was doing so.

He soon witnessed exactly why they seemed so gloomy by the time he had entered the classroom.

The dungeon was dimly lit, but that wasn't it. It was more of an unexplainable aura that radiated from everything, particularly the front desk.

Of course, Al dismissed all these. If Harry respected a man enough to name one of his sons after that man, Al reasoned, then that man ought to be kind.

"Before we begin today's lesson, I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my… displeasure." Al froze and involuntarily flicked his eyes in between Harry and Professor Snape. _What_, in the name of Merlin's beard, was going _on_?

Al had always known that Harry Potter was not one person who was predictable, but this younger version of Harry was defying Al's expectations frighteningly often.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Al looked up at Professor Snape's face, hoping for some sign of sarcasm or even a sly wink, anything that would indicate that this was not who Severus Snape was, but after a steady examination Al's green eyes dropped back to his desktop. He refused to believe what his senses- sight, hearing, observation, logic, and even humour- were telling him. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."

Al's eyes were flickering from Harry to Snape and back again once more, as he tried to figure out _what the bloody hell_ was going on. This had to be some kind of prank, some kind of setup. Al glanced at the door; he was half expecting that James would be there, grinning slyly at him, because judging from the way that Professor Snape and Harry were staring at each other, Severus Snape was the last person that anyone would expect Harry to name his second son after. This was _not_ supposed to be like this. Harry had told Al that Severus Snape was _the bravest man he ever knew_.

He had half a mind to shout out, _All right, this joke's over! It's not funny, blimey, _because it _had _to be a joke. Harry Potter respected Professor Snape enough to name his child after the man, so _why_ were they _glaring_ at each other? If this was James's prank, it was probably the most elaborate executed since the beginning of the universe- how did James provide doppelgangers for all people in the past, send dementors, and even get the Ministry of Magic to join in?

Al struggled to keep calm while making the Draught of Peace. He had enjoyed making it the first time around- it provided a challenge, and Rose had betted she would get higher marks than Al, so that there was competition- but it now seemed too tricky to have a good time making it.

Al pounded irritably on his moonstones, even after they had been reduced into the finest powder possible.

* * *

Al had of course expected that his first encounter with Severus Snape would be the worst thing in the day.

But of course, something dashed his hopes.

Lunch was okay. Al was a step behind his father's heels as they entered the Great Hall. Harry was sulking, as Professor Snape had given him a mark of _zero_ for his potion, which wasn't that bad, really, as compared to Seamus Finnigan's, which ended up blowing up large red and green bubbles which floated to the ceiling and released an originally pleasant but later irritatingly repetitive couple of notes, or Pansy Parkinson's, which filled the dungeon with the horrible stench of dying roses as she scraped the paste that had formed on the bottom of her cauldron off. But Al knew better than to try and comfort Harry, as he understood that he would rather be left alone to feel sorry for himself, as Al would want the same if he was in Harry's situation. _And besides,_ he reflected as he speared a chunk of his shepherd's pie, _I've got plenty of problems of my own._ For one, he was stuck eleven years before his birth, and he had just witnessed his father and his namesake pouring hate on each other.

"That was really unfair. Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire," said Hermione.

"Yeah, well, since when has Snape ever been fair to me?" Harry said, scowling at the table.

All four of them succumbed into silence; Ron and Hermione knowing that Professor Snape and Harry had never gotten along and Al because he never expected this sort of statement.

"…I did think he might be a bit better this year. I mean… you know…" Hermione dropped her voice. "…Now he's in the Order and everything."

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," said Ron, sipping his pumpkin juice in what was obviously supposed to be dignified silence. He put down his goblet and said, "Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?" Al blinked before he remembered that Voldemort was not a name commonly used in 1995.

"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," said Hermione, her voice lifting in irritation.

Al lowered his eyes and chewed on the last piece of his shepherd's pie.

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," Harry said seriously. Hermione and Ron stopped, with an insulted look on their faces, Ron with his mouth open and Hermione with her arms folded over her chest. "Can't you give it a rest? You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad." And with that, Harry picked up his bag and stomped away.

Al glanced at the two shocked- he didn't really know what to call them. "I didn't expect him to be always so angry." He frowned, then picked up his schoolbag and slipped the strap onto his shoulder. "You know, you two _do _bicker a lot," he said frankly, before hurrying away to find Harry to ask him for the directions to the Astronomy Tower, as he didn't have the stomach to stand Ron and Hermione's quarrelling either.

Behind him, Ron went back to his food, but Hermione kept staring after him, her eyebrows furrowed.

Apparently, Al didn't need to ask for the directions, as Harry seemed to be heading straight to the Divination classroom. Harry hurried up the spiral staircase with Al on his heels. Al was beginning to worry that the staircase may never end when happily, it did.

"Hello," he panted. Harry raised his eyebrows from his spot under a trapdoor in the ceiling- to the attic where the class would be held, Al presumed. "I thought you might want some company that wasn't always bickering."

"Ron and Hermione aren't _too_ bad," said Harry. Al wasn't sure if he was talking to him or was simply thinking aloud. "But yes, some company I could actually _talk _to would be welcome." He appraised Al. "Why do you know me so well? You only met me this summer."

Frost, frost spreading over his face- Al was paling. "It could be I can just relate to having no-one look out for you," he suggested, hoping Harry couldn't hear the strain in his voice.

Harry looked away and stared at the window. "That would make sense."

"Well, actually- actually, you _do_ have people looking out for you," Al corrected himself. "You have the Weasleys, and Dumbledore, and Sirius-"

Harry sent him a warning look.

"Sorry," apologized Al.

"_Dumbledore's_ looking out for you," said Harry absently.

Al thought about it. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No, he's not, not really. He's just making sure I'd…." That Al would what, exactly? That Al would survive, exist, not ruin anything, or simply fit in? "He's just making sure that I'd be able to adapt to Hogwarts," Al finished lamely, "whereas he's really looking out for you."

Harry shook his head. "He hasn't even _spoken_ to me this year."

Al was too resigned to argue, even though he thought that his other namesake might actually be _on good terms_ with Harry. "Well, you have the Weasleys and the Dursleys-"

"The Dursleys wouldn't care if I lived or died," said Harry shortly.

Al shoved the image of Vernon Dursley's sausage-like fingers from his mind's eye as he maintained, "But they raised you!"

"_Raised_ me? Well, if you call giving me enough shelter and food to survive _raising_ me, well then, they raised me."

"Well, you _still_ have the support of the entire Wizarding World," reasoned Al.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You _do_ have no clue what's going on right now, have you, Al?"

Al spotted the chance to ask what was going on and nearly smiled. "I'm an immigrant from America, remember? I _have_ got no clue about what's happening in England _right now_."

"What _do_ you know last happened here?"

"Er… the Triwizard Tournament. I heard about it in passing." It wasn't even really a lie. In fact, all he really knew was that Viktor Krum, who Uncle Ron harboured resentment to for some reason, Aunt Fleur, and his Dad and Cedric Diggory had been sent by Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts respectively to vie for the cup. _That, _Al thought, remembering something Uncle Ron had told him, _and the fact that they had a psychotic teacher who manipulated Harry that year._

Harry's eyes flashed, but he said "Well, then, my friend, would you like me to fill you in?" in a mock courteous voice.

Al snorted. "Thank you for the offer, kind sir, I would most appreciate it," he replied in an identical tone.

He caught Harry's eye and they both had a short burst of laughter.

Harry stopped first, for some reason Al couldn't fathom. He had a strange look on his face.

"Last year, there was, as you said, the Triwizard tournament," he said, his face expressionless. Al could easily see through it to the pain behind- he was, after all, Harry's son and had spent most of his fifteen years with him. "I was in tie with the other Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory. The cup was a Portkey, and it took us to a graveyard, where we saw Voldemort rise again." His arm twitched as he inspected the look on Al's face. "What, no flinch?"

"It's ridiculous to be afraid of a name," said Al, thinking about how everyone in his time would say the name easily enough- or at least those who had only come around after the war.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Hardly anybody believes he's back. They're dismissing it as just a publicity stunt."

Al didn't exactly know how to react to that. "Er… I'm sorry?" he offered tentatively.

His father shook his head. "You have enough problems without mine," he said as the bell rang. Harry tilted his head as the trapdoor opened and a ladder cascaded down. He looked expectantly at Al.

"You first," said Al.

As Harry ascended the ladder, it struck Al that he just had a halfway _ordinary _conversation with his _fifteen-year-old father_. Not only that, but he had _laughed_ with him. He was actually _adapting_ to 1995. He wasn't really sure if that was good, or bad. Just to be sure, he sat a chair away from Harry.

It didn't take five minutes for the rest of the class to arrive. Ron was among the first batch that arrived. Al was surprised to see that Hermione was not with him.

"Where's Hermione?" he blurted.

"She doesn't take Divination," said Ron as he took the seat between Al and Harry. "Oh, and Harry, Hermione says she thinks it would be nice if you stopped taking your temper on us."

Harry looked miffed. "I'm not-"

"I'm just passing on the message. But I reckon she's right. We've stopped arguing, you know."

"Well-" Harry began, but was interrupted by Sybil Trelawney's vague voice, saying "Good day."

Al was beginning to think that maybe this day was playing a cruel joke on him. "Good" was the last thing this day was, he reflected as they dragged their feet towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

As the last people sat down, Al first noted the number of people in the class. There were far fewer people than there were in _his _Defence class in _his_ time. He supposed that he hadn't noticed this because he had been half-asleep during History of Magic and he had been too concentrated in the conflict between Professor Snape and Harry to notice much else in Potions, and Divination wasn't a regular class.

"Well, good afternoon!" said Umbridge as she gave them a sickly-sweet smile.

There were a few scattered mumbles of "Good afternoon."

"Tut, tut," said Umbridge. "_That_ won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they said dully in unison.

"There, now. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Al extracted from his bag a couple of pieces of (rather crumpled) parchment, the first quill he got hold of that wasn't broken, and a bottle of ink that was leaking slightly. He wished that self-inking quills be invented soon.

Umbridge held her short wand and rapped the board sharply. The words below appeared there at once, in a large, stereotypically neat cursive:

**Defence Against the Dark Arts**

**A Return to Basic Principles**

Umbridge then began blathering on about some dumb thing about the Defence curriculum; Al tuned her out. It was not until she made them copy down several course aims that he actually did something.

"Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Oh, no, we were idiots enough to come to Hogwarts without one of the requirements," said Al sarcastically under his breath.

In front of him, Ron sniggered.

"I think we'll try that again," said Umbridge loudly. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class said in a singsong voice.

"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

Al flipped to chapter five page one- wait, no, _page_ five, chapter one and tried to read it.

It was boring. It was amazingly boring. Eventually, Al found himself rereading one sentence again and again. Al found himself rereading one sentence again and again. Al found himself rereading one sentence again and again. Al found himself rereading one sentence again and again. It was almost as if the author meant him to read that one sentence over and over. His eyes strayed from the book and to the people in front of him.

Ron's eyes were fixated on one point of the page and he was fiddling with his quill. Right in front of Al, Harry was in the same state Al had been in, repeatedly reading the same sentence. Al turned to Hermione and suddenly felt like clapping his hands.

Hermione's hand was stuck into the air. Her jaw was set and she was determinedly staring at Umbridge. The book on her table remained untouched.

Several seconds later, Harry was also looking at Hermione, in his case questioningly. Hermione gave a nearly unnoticeable shake of the head. Harry was not the only one. As more minutes passed, the number of people opting to observe Hermione instead of reading their books swelled so rapidly until Umbridge seemed to decide that she couldn't ignore her any more.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" said Umbridge.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione, shaking her head.

"Well, we're reading just now. If you have any other queries we can deal with them at the end of the class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione as Umbridge turned back to her table.

Umbridge turned back to her, raising her eyebrows. "And your name is- ?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully." Umbridge smiled at her sweetly.

"Well, I don't," Hermione said brusquely. "There's nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells."

A short pause.

"_Using_ defensive spells?" Umbridge gave a laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to _use_ a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"How are we supposed to learn if we're not going to use magic?" Ron interjected in a loud voice. Al was somewhat pleased he was standing up for Hermione.

Umbridge nearly scowled. "Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr- ?"

"Weasley," Ron said as he shoved his hand up.

Umbridge ignored him. Harry and Hermione raised their hands at once. Al followed suit.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

"No, but-"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class-"

"Are _you _a Ministry-trained educational expert, Professor?" interrupted Al. He so badly wanted to say that Hermione was the one the Ministry asked for advice when confronted with anything related to education- in_ the future_, he added.

_"I did not call you, Mr Prentice!"_ Al gave a 'humph' and insistently raised his hand. Umbridge, as she did with Ron, disregarded him. "As I was saying," she continued in her fluttery, girlish voice, wizards much older and cleverer than Miss Granger here"- a few people made a sceptical noise at the word 'cleverer'- "have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-"

"What use is that?" argued Harry, "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a-"

"_Hand_, Mr Potter!" trilled Umbridge.

Harry threw his fist up. Umbridge turned her back on him, only to face quite a few other students with their hands also in the air.

"And your name is?" said Umbridge to a boy who looked remarkably like Al's Quidditch captain before Colin Creevey and then James, Joseph Thomas.

"Dean Thomas." _That makes _some _sense,_ thought Al.

"Well, Mr Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free-"

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," interjected Umbridge, a wide smile spreading on her mouth that suggested otherwise, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed- not to mention extremely dangerous half-breeds."

Half of the class made an angry noise.

"If you mean Professor Lupin," said Dean Thomas hotly, "he was the best we ever-"

"_Hand_, Mr Thomas!" growled Umbridge as Al's mind processed Dean Thomas's statement. _Teddy's dad _taught_ Dad Defence!_ "As I was saying- you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group-"

"I don't think the Unforgivables are appropriate for any age group!" seethed Al.

"- and potentially lethal," continued Umbridge as though she had heard nothing. "You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day-" _This is war! It _is_ likely, _Al almost snapped until he remembered it was 1995 and not 1997.

"No we haven't, we just-" began Hermione.

_"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"_

Irritation was now noticeable on Hermione's face, as she resolutely raised her hand. As expected, Umbridge turned her back on her.

"It is my understanding," said Umbridge, "that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them _on_ you-"

"He was a sociopathic Death Eater, wasn't he!" exclaimed Al. "But even if he was I think _they_"- he gestured to his same-age-but-twenty-six-years-older classmates around him- "still learned lots-"

_"Your hand is not up, Mr Prentice!"_ sang Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she nodded at Hector Song's mother.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show we can actually do the countercurses and things?" Parvati Patil raised her eyebrows.

"As long as you have studied the theory enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions—"

"Without ever practicing them before?" asked Parvati Patil disbelievingly. "Are you telling us the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" demanded Al's dad, his fist raised in the air. Al had never been prouder of his family before that moment.

Umbridge scowled. "This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world."

Harry looked at her defiantly. "So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."

Al turned to his Dad, hoping that he might apply logic to the situation, as he usually was pretty good at. But Al was disappointed: Harry seemed to have a shorter fuse than his Dad.

"Oh yeah?"

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" Umbridge raised her eyebrows as though asking concernedly.

"Hmm, let's think…" Harry said in the same voice Al used when he was dealing with a particularly reckless James to make him see sense- a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe _Lord Voldemort_?"

The reaction was plain silly: people screamed, gasped, flinched, and Neville Longbottom, Al's _herbology professor_, who was perhaps the best teacher that they had in Al's time, fell off his stool. Al looked at Umbridge, hoping that she had done something of the same nature, but she only had a look of satisfaction on her face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter."

Al carefully scrutinized the expression on Harry's face and saw that there was virtually nothing underneath the anger.

"Now let me make a few things quite plain.

"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-"

"He wasn't dead, but yeah, he's returned!" said Harry indignantly.

"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-po ints-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Umbridge without pausing to take a breath. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. _This is a lie._"

Al only had enough time to think, _That was a bad move_ before Harry burst out, "It is NOT a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr Potter!" said Umbridge, her eyes shining like a crow's. "Tomorrow evening. Five o' clock. My office. I repeat, _this is a lie_. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend." Al scowled at the lie. "And now, will you kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

Umbridge sat back down, but Harry, as Al had speculated, was not yet finished. He stood right up, and Al didn't know whether to warn him to sit down or be exceedingly proud of his dad.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" said Harry in a shaking voice as all of the eyes in the room fixated on him.

The class breathed in in unison.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Umbridge snapped.

Harry was trembling visibly as he said in a flat, firm voice: "It was murder. Voldemort killed him, and you know it." Al blinked. He had never actually thought of it that way, using that word. He had, after all, never really known Cedric Diggory- Cedric Diggory, who had been there when his father had watched Voldemort rise again, who had _died_ twelve years before Al was even born.

It occurred to Al that there were more people he owed his _existence_ to than he even knew.

Umbridge's voice broke through. "Come here, Mr Potter, dear."

Harry kicked his chair out of his path and paced to the front desk. Umbridge had taken out a roll of (disgustingly) pink parchment and was scrawling on it. A minute or two passed with the classroom silent. Umbridge then rolled up the parchment and sealed it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear."

Harry wordlessly grabbed the parchment and stomped out of the classroom. For about ten minutes all were silent and still, until Umbridge said, "Well, I would appreciate it if you carry on reading!" in an irritated voice.

All of them went back to _Defensive Magical Theory_, but Al, whose mind was still wandering elsewhere, could have sworn that he heard a faint, angry yell from a floor or two down.

* * *

_…back with family, at home, safe…._

Al was struggling to do his _stupid_ dream diary homework. _Why_ Dumbledore had assumed that he took Divination, he didn't know.

He looked over at Ron, who had recently arrived from what Harry assumed was his solo Quidditch practice for tomorrow evening and noted that his uncle was snoring lightly.

"Oi, Ron, you might want to go to the dormitory now… _Ronald_…." Al reached over and pinched Ron's arm, trying not to make it so hard.

His attempt failed. Ron yelped and looked around wildly as Al dropped his quill and raised his hands Muggle movie-style.

"Sorry!" Al apologized. "It's just… Quidditch is exhausting, you might want to go to the dorm and get some actual sleep in a real bed." Ron shook sleep out of his eyes and mumbled thanks, picking up his Cleansweep Eleven, weaving his way through the crowd of Gryffindors, and ascending the stairs to the Boys' Dormitories as Al went back to his homework.

_Now, what could being back home with my family mean?_ Al thought sarcastically. _Ooh, this is a hard one. Maybe it means I'm going to drown in a chocolate fountain or something._

Al scribbled on about his not-really varying dreams: they were all generally about being at home. He'd found it somewhat funny- he'd read somewhere that if you had a dream about time travelling, it meant that you wanted to be out of your current situation.

It was the reverse for him: he had _actually time travelled_, and he wanted to be back where he was- which was why, he guessed, his dreams were about being back at home. In his ordinary life maybe, it would have meant nothing and he certainly wouldn't remember it, but here- aside from the fact that it was the only dream he's had since he'd _magically appeared _in 1995, it was the thing he wanted the most. It was strange, that a dream about laughing with Lily and James could be so memorable, or failing miserably at his first scrambled eggs when his Dad had tried to teach him how to cook so comforting, or suggesting ideas for his mother's sports column in the _Daily Prophet_ be familiar.

And when he woke up, in his four-poster bed, he would spend a few minutes pretending that in the other dorms would be Lily and James and Hugo and Rose and Molly and Lucy and Fred and Roxanne, until he the fact that he really wasn't would slowly sink in and he would be forced back to 1995.

Minutes passed, then hours. The common room gradually emptied, until only Al and four seventh years trying to catch up with their homework were left. Al had partly given up on the thing, only scrawling a few words when they made it through his other thoughts.

The portrait hole swung open; Al and one of the seventh years looked up. Harry stood there, his face sour. Al suddenly noted his uncomfortable position- why did he use his left hand to push it open?

"Hey," said Al setting down his quill.

"Hello," said Harry, walking over. "It's late. You're doing homework."

"I tried to finish all of them, D-" Al had to bite his tongue to ensure the rest of the word didn't come out.

"What about you, then, Harry? Why were you outside?"

"I had detention, remember?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

It had, Al was ashamed to say, slipped his mind. "What did she make you do?" he asked suspiciously.

"Lines," said Harry, his right hand twitching.

That twitch brought a memory of a conversation Al had had with his Dad, right after he had received his prefect badge.

_"Well, now Malfoy certainly won't be dating Rose. Not as long as I can dock points off him, anyway," Al joked, tracing the gold design on the badge._

_"I wouldn't be so sure about that," said his Dad, smiling as he shook his head. "I'm pretty sure Scorpius would also be a prefect, you know."_

_Al laughed. "Well, there's always James, I suppose. James has a talent for getting _anyone_ into trouble. It just usually backfires on him. And then I can report Malfoy and hopefully he'll be given detention- lines or something."_

_Harry's right hand twitched as he shook his head. "No, not lines. Hopefully he'll have to do something actually useful."_

What was so special about his father's right hand? _Well,_ thought Al, _it was his wand hand. Harry used it to write. He had scars there-_

Scars!

_The ones that Dad would never talk about._ Al breathed in. Could _now _be when he got them?

"Show me your hand," Al commanded. Harry's eyebrows jumped. Al vaguely wondered whether that was how he looked like when he was surprised as he took Harry's right hand.

Raw skin was the first thing he saw. And then he saw the words the red skin formed, in his father's handwriting: _I must not tell lies._

"Blood quill," breathed Al. He knew virtually nothing about it, just what it did, when he was studying how Transfiguration and Charms overlapped, under the _bodily_ section.

"Yes, that's what it's called I think," said Harry. Al had an impulse to ask Harry what a blood quill looked like until he realized that would be tactless on his part. "It heals pretty quickly though," said Harry. "I bet it'll be gone by tomorrow."

Al looked up and made eye contact with him.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you," slipped from Al's lips before he could stop it. He hurriedly looked down to gather his things and headed to the stairs. "Aren't you coming?"

Harry didn't reply. He stared after Al for a few minutes until he shook his head and followed his son into the dormitory.


	7. 7: News and A Historical Event

**Chapter Seven**:  
News

**[Rose]**

It had been two months since Al disappeared and there was hardly any news to be reported. Even the arrival of Christmas didn't make it very happy for the Potter family, or, indeed, any of the Weasleys. There seemed to be a cloud of sadness hanging in the air, affecting all of them in different ways.

James, for example, was flouncing around in a temper. Rose thought that it was nice that he'd temporarily stopped pranking people, though it wasn't very pleasant to hear him complaining loudly or shouting at people, like her brother, Hugo, to shut up. The adults buried themselves in work. Molly, Lucy, and Rose, buried themselves in schoolbooks. Hugo messed around with his Quidditch figurines and broomstick models, no matter how much Rose told him that they were childish. Louis often joined him. Victoire and Dominique, Louis's older sisters, helped with the chores around. Fred and Roxanne were building a house out of Exploding Snap cards.

Rose poured herself yet another glass of water before going upstairs to review herself for the Charms O.W.L.s yet again. She was almost to the second Floor when she heard the yelling.

"WELL, IT'S ALWAYS AL AND JAMES ISN'T IT! IT'S NEVER ME! IT'S ALWAYS _THEM_! AL AND JAMES, THE TWO MOST PERFECT CHILDREN OF ALL TIME-"

"Lily-"

"DON'T EVEN TRY TO DENY IT! WITH AL AND HIS BRAINS AND GRADES AND JAMES WITH HIS QUIDDITCH AND HIS STUPID, OH SORRY, _AMAZINGLY CREATIVE_ PRANKS- WHO HAS ROOM FOR POOR LITTLE LILY, WHO'S ONLY _REALLY_ GOOD AT CHARMS AND ART!"

"LILY POTTER-"

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF IT! YOU STOP DENYING IT, I'M NOTHING COMPARED TO THEM! WHAT IT WAS LIKE FOR YOU ISN'T THE SAME, MUM! YOU DIDN'T HAVE-"

"I didn't have much money, in case you haven't noticed, _Lily Luna_," said Aunt Ginny, and Lily shut up, possibly because she knew that whenever her middle name was mentioned, the situation was a hundred times more serious than she believed. "And as for this _you didn't have war heroes for parents_ tosh, may I just remind you that your gran and grandpa Weasley also participated in the First Wizarding War. And if you think competing with two brothers is hard, try having six."

There was an awkward pause wherein only the rustling of papers and footsteps could be heard. Then, tentatively, Aunt Ginny said, "Well, if you feel up to it, you could go down later, you might want to go and listen to what your father has to say."

A moment of silence, and then Lily said, "But didn't Aunt Hermione say she knows _how_ we can have Al back?"

Slowly, Aunt Ginny said, "Not that, exactly… but something close to that, yes."

The door was opened, and Rose looked up to see her Aunt's retreating figure. She was wise enough to wait a couple of minutes to see if she came back, and then went to the door to the girls' room.

She found Lily stacking parchment into one pile. _Wait,_ Rose suddenly thought, _not parchment, Oslo paper._

"Hello," Rose began. Lily looked up with a jerk and Rose caught sight of what was on the paper. It looked like one of Lily's drawings.

"Oh… hello," she said, turning to move the stack next to what looked like a box set of books to Rose. Then she blinked and realized that the spines were too glossy and too evenly thick to be books. They were DVDs.

Rose crossed the room and picked one of the rightmost DVDs out of the box. **DOCTOR WHO**, it said on the front cover, and, in smaller letters under it, _Doomsday_. Rose examined the people on the cover- a man in a brown suit and Converse with brown hair that stuck up (Rose identified him as The Doctor) and a woman with straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders.

"I didn't know you watched this," said Rose.

"You really should pay more attention, then, Rose," said Lily, picking out and holding up a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of the police box that was the TARDIS from the top of the pile of clothes on her bed. "I didn't even _know_ you knew about it."

"My Mum used to watch this," Rose told her cousin.

Lily attempted to grin. "Well, she's Aunt Hermione, I suppose. She could do anything as long as it's awesome."

"Accurate," Rose said. "She even found a way to get Al back, or so I gathered from what you were saying.

Lily narrowed her eyes at her, which- considering the almond shape of her eyes- made all the green in them all but disappear. "You were eavesdropping," she said accusatively.

"You were shouting," countered Rose. Then, in attempt to change the subject (she figured that Lily wouldn't like discussing the shouting match she had with her mother earlier), "And anyway, I think I was bound to find out about it. She's my Mum; after all, I should know what she's doing."

"Not if you're always studying," said Lily, shooting her a grateful look. "But if it's Aunt Hermione, it's bound to be a good idea."

Rose smiled at her cousin as she saw the spark of hope that lit up Lily's eyes.

* * *

The table was quiet as Rose's mum hurriedly (Uncle Harry was waiting for his turn) dictated the logic behind her deduction: Al was in 1995.

Apparently, although the time turner that Theodore Nott had taken wasn't recovered, the Department of Mysteries kept a log of the different kinds of time turners and the details about them. There was two missing, one of them taken by Nott, and the other taken by the Department of Experimental Charms as a control for one of their experimentations. The Experimental Charms people had, irresponsibly, neglected to log which of the time turners they had taken; and since Nott's was stolen, there was of course no log entry for it.

But they knew that the two time turners that they had taken were a 2Δ-0.0027 and a 10Γ-26-

"Wait, ten gum what?" interrupted Lily, who was finding it hard to catch on.

"Ten gamma twenty-six," said Rose's mum very clearly, "it means that it's the tenth model of the Unspeakable under the alias gamma, and its maximum capacity- which means the number of years you get sent back in time if you broke it when it was never used before- is twenty-six years or so. In the case of 2Δ-0.0027, I guess its capacity is about… a day."

Resuming the logic behind Hermione's deduction, if the two time turners were 2Δ-0.0027 and 10Γ-26 and Nott had taken the time turner in an attempt to extend Voldemort's reign, as the adults presumed it was, it was probably more likely that Nott had taken the latter. It would have taken him to sometime in 1995, but it was near enough, and Hermione suspected that Nott didn't know how time turners worked anyway.

"If he did take 10Γ, he was really lucky. It wasn't too far off the mark," said Hermione.

So, Rose's mum reasoned, the only way they'd be able to get to Al would be to break another 10Γ, this time with a person fully aware that they were going back in time. Said person would do what they can to get Al back home.

"The problem is," continued Hermione, "there's a big chance that neither of you would be able to."

There was a stunned silence, until James protested, "But I thought that you had an idea to get Al back, not to get another one of us to disappear!"

"Well, do you have any better ideas, genius?" demanded Rose, "'Cause if you do, we'd _love_ to hear them."

"It's completely unreasonable," persisted James. "If you don't _know_ how to get Al back, why even risk losing another person?"

The cruel truth in his words made everyone go quiet, letting everyone know that he had a point, until Rose's mum gave a wry smile and said, "Well, it'd be better that Al's safe than nothing."

"What?" Lily said.

Hermione turned to Uncle Harry as though asking him to explain. Uncle Harry sighed, ran his hands through his hair, preparing to say his part.

"Theodore Nott is probably also in 1995. And Al probably doesn't know that."

His words hung in the air, silencing everyone effectively.

Finally, Rose said, "He's _probably_ also in 1995. What are the chances that he is?"

"Much more likely than not, as far as the Auror department could figure," said Uncle Harry wearily. "We've been looking for him for _months_ just in case he was still here, but there was little chance of that from the start."

The rest of the family was silent as Lily looked at Hermione, a determined light in her eyes. "Aunt Hermione, will you be able to get one of those time turners?"

* * *

A Historical Event

**[Al]**

Al _knew_ that he wasn't even remotely important to the people who would become his family in the distant future right now. But still, he couldn't stop _watching_ them.

Harry was the most interesting to watch of them all. Al had, quickly, seen how _different_ he was from the man he called his father. That, he could have accepted. The problem was, Al hadn't _known_ how much Harry had went though. It had seemed so simple to him and his cousins back then: Harry Potter was a hero to the Wizarding world because he had defeated a Dark wizard. That was pretty much they had thought there was to the story. Maybe once or twice they had pictured Harry struggling against ropes that bound him or fighting against the Death Eaters, but they had never considered that it was this _dark_ back then.

Al wished he had known it was like this. Maybe then he could have offered his Dad a bit of sympathy for all that he had gone through.

For instance, for the past two days Harry had gone back for several hours of detention with Umbridge. Yesterday, Harry had gone back to the common room, not with only a sore back of his hand, but with an actually open and bleeding couple of wounds. Al wished he had warned Harry that he would have scars on the back of his right hand for the rest of his life- perhaps if Harry had known _that_ part of the deal he would have reported Umbridge. But now, it was too late.

_No,_ Al reminded himself,_ you shouldn't think about _changing_ things, Albus! That's suicidal- no, that's not the word. If you change anything _vital_, that's _infanticide_. You're going to get _back_ to your time without _changing_ anything._

It was still tempting.

"_Yes_!" Ginny exclaimed in front of him; Al was shook out of his thoughts in time to see Ron catch a Quaffle.

"Good," Angelina said, (it suddenly hit Al how easily he was calling his parents and uncles and aunts by their first names) "that was four saves out of five. You've got a fair chance, Ron. Go and wait by the side, will you?"

A pressured-looking Ron landed on the ground and staggered over to where his siblings (and Al) sat.

"Well, like Angie said, you've a fair chance, Ron," said Fred, grinning as he patted Ron's shoulder. Al blinked. _Angie?_

George seemed to be on the same train of thought as him. "Fred, my friend, did you just call _dear_ Angelina _Angie_?"

"Well, I did, George," Fred turned to George. "She told me to call her by any name I wanted."

"She didn't really say that, did she?" asked Ron, looking bemused. "I mean, you aren't going-"

"As a matter of fact," said Fred, "I'm planning to ask her out by the next Hogsmeade weekend, if we're both free."

_It didn't really happen like that, did it?_ Al asked himself. _It was Uncle _George_ who ended up with Aunt Angelina and they only started going out by the time they were something like_ twenty_!_

George opened and closed his mouth, looking as confused as Al felt. Fred seemed to find this funny. "How'd I _miss_ that?" demanded George.

"Well, you were asleep in the common room while we were talking-"

George just shook his head, grinning rather hysterically in Al's opinion.

By the time that he did, Vicky something-or-other had saved the fifth Quaffle thrown at him. Ginny, George and Fred exchanged dismayed looks.

"Well, that's it, that's them," said Angelina in a loud voice so that everybody in the pitch could hear her. "And the top three are number six, Ronald Weasley, with four saves, and number three, Geoffrey Hooper, and seven, Vicky Frobisher, each with five saves." She looked around at the crowd of complaining rejects around her. "I'm sorry, but the rest of you will have to leave while we debate on this. Team," she called, nodding towards the stands.

George, Fred, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet stood from their seats. Al ticked them off with his fingers; there were five of them. He wouldn't be surprised if George and Fred were the Beaters, and by their builds Al guessed that Angelina, Katie and Alicia were the Chasers. Therefore there were two of them who weren't conferring, the yet-to-be-chosen Keeper and the Seeker, which, Al realized all of a sudden, was Harry. The stress of trying to blend in to 1995, he guessed, had gotten to him and that was the reason he had forgotten that his father was- _and still is_- the youngest Seeker in a century.

"Well, what then? We don't get to be included in the debate?" yelled one of the candidates- Geoffrey Hooper- as they put their heads together. Vicky Frobisher, on the other hand, was reading from a Charms magazine in wandlight. Al didn't recognize its title. Ron was just sitting in his seat; he looked as though he was praying, or maybe chewing his nails. It was hard to tell from behind him.

After about ten minutes, the circle dissolved and Angelica went back to where she was standing before, the place where her voice could be heard throughout the Quidditch field.

"We've had a vote," said Angelica. "The decision was unanimous. We're going to take Ron Weasley."

Geoffrey Hooper began whining about how unfair and biased it all was; the team ignored him. Vicky Frobisher, on the other hand, seemed to accept this and left with his nose in the book.

Ginny ran up to her brother and began shaking his hand vigorously, while George and Fred solemnly shook their heads as they snuck of to the direction of one of the only secret passages into Hogsmeade.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

George and Fred returned from Hogsmeade with bottles of butterbeer- foamy butterbeer, warm butterbeer, and ordinary butterbeer, but strangely not the iced ones, which were better in Al's opinion- about thirty minutes later, and Al had to say that he was impressed by their ability to ignore authority. Although most of the common room hadn't even been there to watch the try-outs, they heartily congratulated Ron (and then made a beeline for the drinks).

For most of the time Al stuck with Hermione, who, for some reason, was knitting hats (which were small as compared to normal hats) in front of the Gryffindor fireplace. Al had to think for a while before he figured out why. It was strangely nice to know that, even if he was in 1995, Hermione was still campaigning for elf rights. Al had offered Hermione to help with her knitting. She refused at first, but Al insisted, and after a while Hermione succumbed. By the time he had finished about one and a half meters of sloppily done crochet (he wasn't a exactly very experienced knitter- he didn't even really know the difference between knitting and crochet, but a crochet would do for a head band or something), Hermione was half-asleep, the hat she was knitting limp in her lap and her hands moving sluggishly, but every once in a while she would look up at Al, who tried to figure why. There were a lot of things in that stare. Curiosity, bemusement, and- although Al wished he was just imagining it- suspicion? Perhaps Al was being too obvious.

How much of his life _was_ in 1995? The safety, from Voldemort at least, was gone, along with his cousins and the Hogwarts he knew. _And_ the rest of his family was younger. These were almost casual thoughts now, just like his actions. Most of the time, it felt like he was talking to normal friends already- if he let go of who he was, he was just a random boy talking to great people, which, technically, was what he was supposed to be.

By the time that he had made about five square inches he suddenly noticed that Harry was coming over to them.

Al kept knitting.

Harry put his bag down on Hermione's other side. Hermione was jerked out of her drowsy stupor and Harry sat down. Al, for some reason, continued crocheting, although his head band thing was getting ridiculously long.

"Oh, Harry, it's you…. Good about Ron, isn't it?" Al realized with some dismay that Hermione had not been at the Quidditch field while Ron tried out. "I'm just so- so- so tired," Hermione said through her yawn. "I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!"

"Great," said Harry in the same distracted tone he always used when he was thinking of something more important. Al pretended to be concentrating very keenly on his crochet. "Listen, Hermione, I was up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm…."

Both Hermione and Al listened to Harry's story, not missing any detail (it was hard on Al's part because he had to use his hands at the same time). When Harry finished, Al was (there was hardly a better word for it) incredulous. He had known that his father was definitely not the average wizard- whatever the opposite of that is, that's what Harry is- but this was something that was unheard of (at least to him and his siblings and cousins). Stinging of curse scars that was stimulated by the touch of a- Al resisted the urge to insert the word 'evil'- woman? There was probably no book in the world that told about it, currently, anyway (there _were_ several unofficial Harry Potter history/fan books, but they were mainly facts collected by fans and were not, in any way, associated with the Weasleys or Al's Dad himself. Anyway, the Weasley cousins always found them too awkward to read- like intruding into their Uncles', Aunts' and parents' private lives). Moreover, Harry talked as if this were something that happened fairly regularly, or at least happened to him many times in the past.

That was sort of disturbing- these numerous _strange_ things that had happened- _or is happening, whatever_- to his father that he never even knew about.

"You're worried that You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?" asked Hermione, and Al tuned back into the conversation (this was another thing he knew virtually nothing about).

"Well, it's a possibility, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," said Hermione. "But I don't think he can be _possessing_ her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose…." There was a momentary pause wherein Al struggled to understand the sentence. "But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?"

Al gave up on making sense of it as it was being said and instead filed it into his brain for later reference.

"She's evil. Twisted."

"She's horrible, yes, but… Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt."

For some reason, Harry frowned at this. "I'm not bothering him with this. Like you said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting off and on all summer- it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all-"

"Harry," said Hermione, "I'm _sure_ Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this-"

"Yeah, that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?" Harry said bitterly. Al went back to furiously pulling bits of yarn into the loops he made, quickly finished the head band (this made his crochet even shoddier) and gave it to Hermione, before marching off to go to bed, leaving Harry and Hermione, who had apparently forgotten his presence, in his wake.

* * *

Time passed at the pace of molasses. Considering that there seemed to be virtually no threats to his life (not exactly his existence, though, that was another story), 1995 was really starting to feel a bit like home to Al. But he only needed one glimpse at Harry again to spoil the thoughts that he may have slipped in time and ended up back in 2021.

Saturday came and went without any really important events, since Al basically stayed in his dormitory for the whole day, only coming out for meals and baths and such. He'd done his homework in bed and fell asleep with his head on his Charms book.

Monday visited with the bad news that Dolores Umbridge was assigned to be the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. Although Hogwarts was annually visited by Inquisitors from the Ministry in Al's time, an Inquisitor who stayed at Hogwarts full-time didn't seem like a particularly good idea, especially since it was _Umbridge_ they were speaking of.

Al's impression of her didn't get better by the fact that she became an Inquisitor- not that he expected it to, even if he generally liked Inquisitors- and it didn't help that she kept handing Al's father detentions whenever she had the chance to.

So when Al overheard Hermione discussing something about a plan to defy Umbridge with Cho So-What-If-I-Would Chang and a girl who was either Tallulah Twigg or Marietta Edgecombe (who, Al noted, didn't seem terribly keen on the idea) right before lunch time about two weeks after the promotion of Umbridge, he immediately jumped on it.

"That sounds great, how?"

Cho scowled at him. "Oh hello, _Alexander Prentice_," she said, sneering. Tallulah Twigg or Marietta Edgecombe giggled.

"Cho Chang," he acknowledged, nodding coldly at her.

Hermione shot them a look that clearly said, _No fighting_, and then turned to Al.

"It's not _really_ an act of rebellion," said Hermione, smiling wryly. "It's more of… we _need_ to learn how to defend ourselves, and they don't seem to want us to," she paused, before adding, "you know why."

"Whatever it is, I'm in," said Al, crossing his arms to show Hermione that he was not about to back down.

"All right," said Hermione. "Everybody interested is going to meet during the Hogsmeade weekend- well, in the Hog's Head, probably."

Al turned this fact over in his mind as he headed towards the Gryffindor table. If it was going to be in Hogsmeade, this meant that there weren't going to be any first or second years, but that didn't seem to be the only reason, if it was a reason at all. If Hermione didn't want to include the younger students, it must be somewhat dangerous. Al was beginning to regret his decision when he moved on and tried to look for another reason why. Hogsmeade was where they would be allowed to wander around without any adult supervision, which meant that the professors wouldn't be around. Which of the professors would they want to avoid the most? The answer was obvious: Umbridge.

_That's it, then,_ thought Al. _That's why._ It would obviously not be something that Umbridge would be pleased about.

* * *

September ticked past quickly; October drew nearer. Al had checked the calendar and realized that the Hogsmeade weekend Hermione had been referring to was the first weekend of October- October seventh.

Al was beginning to get worried by then. It had been October when he had left 2021 (Al winced at this thought), and he certainly hadn't expected that it would take more than a month for Dumbledore to find a way to get him out of this time.

This was a somewhat biased and therefore illogical thought, of course, as Al had already known that 'it wouldn't be particularly easy' as Dumbledore had said. Maybe he was expecting too much from the man that his father had revered so much that he had named his son after him. But still, the fact that 1995 had caught on to the month that he had been in 2021 was simply… troubling.

Al had figured that the longer he was in 1995, the less chance that he was going to slip tidily back into his own time, if ever he _could_ get back into his own time.

_Don't think like that._

The Hogsmeade weekend arrived too quickly for Al's taste. However, he was one of the first people to hurry out of Hogwarts and into the village, along with George and Fred and Lee Jordan. The three seventh years were heading towards Zonko's joke shop, which meant that Al would be the first to arrive at the Hog's Head.

The Hog's Head was a pub off the main road. As Al looked up at the sign which hung over the door, brushing the hair the wind had blown into his eyes away, he took in the image of _the_ Hog's Head- a boar's head, detached from the rest of its body, bleeding on a white cloth. He wondered what was up with the owner of the pub- what would make a person name a pub after a beheaded pig?

Al swung the door open. It creaked on its hinges, which didn't make Al any less uneasy. He tentatively took a step on the grimy stone floor, looking around at the place. The windows were filthy, with little sunlight filtering through. Stubs of candles lit the single room. The room also happened to reek of what Al guessed was goats. The people lingering in the pub looked dubious, with their faces concealed. At a nearby table a man was snoring loudly, face down on the table, making the space around him smell strongly of firewhisky. Al wrinkled his nose.

It was, overall, not the sort of place that Al would expect the rational Hermione Weasley (_I'm just saying that in my head!_) to arrange a meeting with the other people she had invited. It suddenly occurred to Al that he would have nothing to do until everyone invited would arrive. He therefore (hesitantly) walked over to the bar and ordered a butterbeer from the old barman.

Al couldn't help but stare at the barman a bit; the barman noticed.

"What?" he grumbled.

"You look familiar," said Al.

"I've never seen you before," said the barman gruffly. "Two Sickles, cough up."

Scowling, Al handed him the silver and received a dusty bottle of butterbeer in return.

As he turned to find a table, however, he found that he didn't have to wait much longer for the people to arrive.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing there behind him. Al gave them a sheepish smile.

"Hey," he tried.

"Hello," said Harry. "Isn't it rather early for you to be here?"

"No," Al replied (despite having full knowledge that it was a rhetorical question), "no it's not." He checked his watch (one of the few things he had brought with him), "They ought to be here soon."

And it wasn't too long after Harry, Ron and Hermione had bought a dirt-encrusted bottle of butterbeer each and sat down at a table with Al that everybody else filed into the room- Neville; Benjamin Thomas's father, Dean; Lavender Brown; the twin sisters Parvati and Padma Patil; Cho Chang and either Marietta Edgecombe or Tallulah Twigg (Al suspected that it was the former); Luna Scamander, who was most probably still Lovegood during this time; the three Gryffindor Chasers, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Al's Aunt Angelina; the Chudley Cannons' Keeper, Dennis Creevey, and his older brother; a guy who Al guessed was Peyton MacMillan's father; two Hufflepuffs Al didn't recognize; Hannah Longbottom, currently an Abbott; three Ravenclaws Al didn't know, one of which looked rather familiar; Al's mother, Ginny (Al didn't know what to make of the fact that she didn't go with Harry); a Hufflepuff boy Al recognized as Zacharias Smith, who would corner his father for a chat at every opportunity and who Harry would, in turn, avoid; and George and Fred and Lee Jordan, who were now burdened with huge bags full to the brim with Zonko's merchandise.

Beside him, Al heard his father hiss something to Aunt Hermione, and Al smiled to himself. Harry hated excessive attention, even twenty-six years from now, and very plausibly for ever.

Ron pulled up some chairs, and Fred ordered a butterbeer for each of the people who had come. Al figured that there were twenty-nine of them in all, counting himself, Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Al tried to drink his butterbeer (which was a little too frothy for his comfort) while the group settled down. When all of them had quieted down, they turned to look at Harry.

"Er," said Hermione rather shrilly, "Well- er- hi." When they turned to her, she continued, "Well… erm… well, you know why you're here. Erm… well, Harry here had the idea"- Harry threw her an angry look- "I mean, I had the idea- that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defence Against the Dark Arts- and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us"- Hermione stood up straighter and her voice became amazingly more confident- "because nobody could call that Defence Against the Dark Arts"- one of the Ravenclaw boys said "Hear, hear," and Hermione smiled slightly- "well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands." She looked sideways at Harry, and then carried on, "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells-"

"You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too, though, I bet?" asked the familiar Ravenclaw boy.

"Of course I do," said Aunt Hermione, "but I want more than that. I want to be properly trained in Defence because… because…." She drew a deep breath and said, "Because Lord Voldemort's back."

The group did that thing that people of the past did whenever Voldemort's name was mentioned: they overreacted.

When the overreaction died down, and everyone was staring at Al's Dad again, Hermione continued, "Well… that's the plan anyway. If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to-"

"Where's the proof that You-Know-Who's back?" demanded Zacharias Smith rather aggressively.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it-"

"You mean, Dumbledore believes _him_," said Zacharias Smith, forcefully reminding Al of how Eustace was when he was first introduced in the Chronicles of Narnia.

"Who are _you_?" said Uncle Ron.

"Zacharias Smith," he said, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes _him_ say You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," said Hermione quickly, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about-"

"It's okay, Hermione."

Al looked at his father, feeling a faint smile light his face. Although Harry was currently acting in anger, Al couldn't help but admire the way that Harry never stepped back and let others defend him. He was always there on the front line. As Harry's kid, Al really did admire his father, but _now_, here in the past, when he was technically the same age as him, was he only ever sure that he admired Harry as a person, and not just because he was expected to.

"What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?" repeated Harry, looking Zacharias Smith right in the eyes. Zacharias seemed to be trying not to cower. "I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

Zacharias had the nerve to retort, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know-"

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you," said Harry irritably. "I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out." Harry gave Hermione a glare.

There was a slight pause wherein all the members of the group did not, for a second, take their eyes off of Harry.

"So," Aunt Hermione said, her voice high again. "So… like I was saying… if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to-"

"Is it true," interjected one of the Hufflepuffs Al didn't know, directing it at Harry, "that you can produce a Patronus?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"Er- you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" Harry asked tentatively.

Smiling, the girl replied, "She's my auntie. I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So- is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?"

"Yes."

"Blimey, Harry!" said Lee Jordan, impressed, "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She's not wrong," murmured Harry, and Al laughed along with several people.

"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" asked one of the Ravenclaw boys. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…." Al broke off mid-laugh and began paying close attention- this was another of the things he had never known.

"Er- yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry, and Al considered that he had _definitely_ been keeping secrets from them.

"And in our first year," said Neville, "he saved the Sorcerous Stone-"

"Sorcerer's," Hermione whispered to him.

"Yes, that, from You-Know-Who."

"And that's not to mention," said Cho Chang- _All right, I'll listen to you, but just this once and not for your benefit_- "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year- getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things…."

Al took mental notes of all of this- well, he didn't know exactly what to call it.

There was a smile playing on the corners of Harry's lips, but he said, "Look, I… I don't want to sound like I'm being modest or anything, but… I had a lot of help with that stuff…."

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said the familiar Ravenclaw immediately. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying…."

"Yeah, well-"

"And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer," said the Hufflepuff girl called Susan Bones.

"I actually-" Harry began, giving Al a sideways glance.

"Whoa, don't look at me; I only helped you find your wand and you saved my neck back there," said Al, speaking for the first time.

"Without my wand, I-" Harry started to argue, but was interrupted rather rudely by Zacharias Smith.

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?"

"Here's an idea," chipped in Ron, "why don't you shut your mouth?"

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," said Zacharias Smith unpleasantly.

"That's not what he said," Uncle Fred.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" asked Uncle George, extracting a frankly rather deadly-looking long metal _thing_ from their Zonko's bags.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy about where we stick this," Fred added.

"Yes," said Hermione quickly (_You owe one to Aunt Hermione, Zacharias Smith_), "well, moving on… the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"

People nodded in agreement, murmuring.

Hermione looked relieved as she said, "Right. Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week-"

"Hang on," said Aunt Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," agreed Cho Chang, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," chimed Zacharias Smith.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone, but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters-" Al blinked before he registered that it was the first time he had heard fifteen-year-old Hermione call Voldemort by his real name.

He didn't have more time to muse on this, as Peyton MacMillan's father suddenly (and very loudly) said, "Well said! Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!" He looked around, waiting for people to contradict him, not that anybody did. "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells-"

Al didn't know whether Hermione also found something-or-other MacMillan a tad too much like Uncle Percy, but he was very glad when she interrupted him.

"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defence Against the Dark Arts is that she's got some… some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

On Al's other side, Parvati Patil uttered a soft "What?" Her sister, Padma, shook her head disbelievingly. Everybody around the table seemed to have a similar reaction; everyone except Al's sister Lily's partial namesake, Luna Lovegood, that was.

"Well, that makes sense," she said. "After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."

Harry looked staggered by this titbit, if it was a fact at all. "What?"

"Yes, he's got an army of heliopaths."

"No, he hasn't," said Hermione sharply.

"Yes, he has," Luna said.

"What are heliopaths?" Neville asked, perplexed.

"They're spirits of fire," said Luna earnestly, her blue eyes widening. "Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of-"

"They don't exist, Neville."

"Oh, yes, they do!"

"I'm sorry, but where's the _proof _of that?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you-"

_"Hem, hem,"_ said Al's Mum in a remarkably good imitation of Umbridge- people even looked up, alarmed, before realizing that she had made the noise and then they laughed. Al smiled a little, remembering James and how he would break tense moments with a joke or two. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get defence lessons?"

"Yes," said Hermione at once, "yes, we were, you're right…."

"Well, once a week sounds cool," Lee Jordan suggested.

"As long as-"

Hermione cut Angelina off, "Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch. Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet…."

They quieted, thinking for a couple of minutes.

"Library?" said Katie Bell.

Harry vetoed this. "I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," he said sarcastically.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" suggested Dean Thomas.

"Yeah," said Ron thoughtfully, "McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard…."

But the look on Harry's face said fairly clearly that he didn't think this was a good idea. Hermione then amended, "Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere. We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and place for the first meeting."

She then turned and extracted a quill and a sheet of parchment, then, tentatively, she said, "I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge- or anybody else- what we're up to."

George and Fred took the parchment and signed their names on it, then handed it to Zacharias Smith, who did not take it.

"Er… well… I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is," he said, taking the parchment gingerly, as though it were a bomb.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the boy Zacharias handed the parchment, without signing it, to- Ernie MacMillan, apparently.

"I- well, we are _prefects_," he blurted, looking distressed. "And if this list was found… well, I mean to say… you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out…."

"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year," reminded Harry.

"I- yes," said Ernie MacMillan hesitantly, "I do believe that, it's just…."

"Ernie, do you think I'd leave that list lying around?" said Hermione, her eyebrows still up.

"No. No, of course not. I- yes, of course I'll sign."

The list was passed around. Soon it was with Padma, then Parvati, who then passed it to Al.

Al signed his pseudonym. Although it wasn't even really his name, it felt oddly binding, as if it were set in stone.

When the parchment had made its way back to Zacharias, who finally signed, George, Fred and Lee bid goodbye and left to buy a few more of what Al supposed would be either pranking supplies or materials for _their_ pranking materials.

In small groups the rest of them left, until there was only Al, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe left.

Cho Chang obviously tried to delay her leave, but Marietta Edgecombe, who was much more impatient than Al remembered her, made sure to let her know that she had to leave quickly. Finally Cho left, looking over her shoulder at Harry. If Al hadn't been drinking his butterbeer, which had been untouched from the beginning of the meeting, he would have probably glared at her.

"Well, I think that went quite well," said Hermione cheerfully as the three older Gryffindors made to leave. At the last second, Harry looked expectantly at Al, who took a break from drinking his butterbeer (which admittedly tasted a bit off) to say, "Well, I have to finish this. We have to return the bottles, right? You first," he added, smiling.

"Return the bottles?" asked Ron, looking at the half-empty one in his hand. "Oh, we have to-"

He sat back down, followed by Harry and then Hermione, who began, "I don't quite remember-"

"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," said Ron, cutting her off.

Hermione frowned a bit, but she said, "I don't like him much either, but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better, really- I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny-"

Ron slopped butterbeer down his front. "He's WHAT?" he demanded when he was finally able to manage it, voicing Al's thoughts.

Harry stood up and put his empty butterbeer bottle down on the table as Hermione said, "Well, that's why he and his friends came, I think- well, they're obviously interested in learning defence, but if Ginny hadn't told Michael what was going on-"

Spluttering, Ron set down his bottle as the three of them headed out of the Hog's Head and into the sunlit street.

Al was left alone on the table, examining the dregs of butterbeer left and reflecting that his current life was about as normal as his bottle was full.

* * *

Al had plenty of time in the next day to think over the things that they had said about Harry's previous years in Hogwarts. He'd penned them down:

Saving Sorcerer's Stone (first year, 1991)Killed basilisk with sword in Dumbledore's office (1992-1993?)Participated in Triwizard Tournament; getting past acromantulas, merpeople, dragons (in flight)…; witnessed Cedric Diggory's death (fourth year, 1994)

He put a check mark next to the only one he'd heard of in his normal life, which was _only_ the Triwizard Tournament (and Cedric Diggory), excluding the acromantulas, merpeople and dragons.

He had no idea _why_ Harry had done so many things in fifteen years that any ordinary wizard wouldn't be able to do in a lifetime. But he knew that he was missing something… something _big_.

Of course, as trouble seemed to be dogging Harry's footsteps, having a _group_ like the one they had formed in the Hog's Head soon became against school rules without approval of- _who else_- Umbridge.

They still went through with it, though, and they found a _brilliant_ place to stay- the Room of Requirement, which was a good place as any.

Currently, he was going with most of the rest of the Gryffindors who had signed up- his Mum, Neville, Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Dean- to the room. The path was familiar to Al, who had had years of staring at the Marauder's Map and trying to get his brother out of the trouble which so often stirred up around him.

"Look at the wall to the right," he'd told them, "the tapestry's going to be there."

Al was thinking maybe they were looking at the wrong wall when Ginny piped up, "There, that's the one."

Al looked at where she was pointing and grinned. "Yep, that's it."

It was the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying fruitlessly to teach trolls ballet. Al had no idea why someone would make a tapestry about it, since it was a fairly gruesome scene.

The polished wooden door gave Al a sense of déjà vu as they pushed it open.

"Whoa," Dean said enthusiastically. "What is this place?"

"It's the Room of-" Harry started, but then there was a knock on the door and more people poured in, gushing about the room.

When, finally, it was eight o'clock, and there were twenty-nine people in the room, Harry crossed the room to the door and locked it.

"Well, this is the place we've found for practices, and you've- er- obviously found it okay-"

"It's fantastic!" Cho Chang interrupted.

"It's bizarre," said Fred. "We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then…."

"Hey, Harry, what's this stuff?" Dean asked, indicating a couple of Sneakoscopes and what looked like a mirror.

"Dark Detectors," said Harry. "Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don't want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled…. Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first, and- er- what, Hermione?"

"I think we ought to elect a leader," she said.

"Harry's leader," said Cho, looking at Hermione as if what she said was completely nonsensical.

"Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly," Hermione said calmly. "It makes it formal and gives him authority. So- everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?"

Twenty-nine hands were stuck into the air. Harry flushed.

"Er- right, thanks. And- _what_, Hermione?"

"I think we ought to have a name. It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" suggested Angelina.

"Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?" Fred put in. Al had to think for a minute before he realized that defying Umbridge would mean defying the Ministry. Although he was fully in favour of the former idea, defying the Ministry wasn't really in his nature, coming from a family that was chock full of people from the Ministry- his Dad, Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron, Uncle Percy, Aunt Audrey….

"I was thinking," said Aunt Hermione, "more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings."

"The Defence Association?" Cho Chang said, "The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?"

"Yeah, the D.A.'s good," Al's Mum said. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?" Her brown eyes sparkled as the people around her laughed.

"All in favour of the D.A.?" Aunt Hermione asked in an authoritative voice, counting the hands that were up. "That's a majority- motion passed!"

She wrote the words _Dumbledore's Army_ in neat, all caps print, and pinned it to the wall- something that Al thought wouldn't be a very wise decision if ever their meeting place was found out.

"Right," began Harry, "shall we get practicing then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is _Expelliarmus_, you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic but I've found it really useful-"

Zacharias Smith snorted. "Oh _please_. I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"

As always, Harry wasn't going to let anybody else have the last say. "I've used it against him. It saved my life last June. But if you think it's beneath you, you can leave."

Al took note of the fact that Harry had been in actual life-threatening situations with less surprise than he would have had if he had been in a normal situation.

"Okay," Harry continued, "I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice."

Al was paired with Neville, who looked much less confident than Al would have liked him to be.

"Well, I suppose we should start." Al gave Neville what he hoped looked like an encouraging smile.

"Let's," agreed Neville.

"Er-" Al raised his wand awkwardly, _"Expelliarmus!"_ The spell shot a few centimetres away from where Al had been aiming, which meant that when Neville's wand flew to him it didn't exactly go into his hand. Al made his way to the bookcase where Neville's wand hit to retrieve it, and then he went back to Neville and handed it to him.

"It's your turn, Neville."

Neville's spell hit Al's wand and it went zooming into his hand.

"All out now, Al," he said, tossing the wand back to its owner.

"Challenge accepted," said Al, grinning. Then, in one quick motion, he said, _"Expelliarmus!"_ and again disarmed Neville. Neville sent another spell in Al's way, which he avoided. Al missed Neville's wand the next time he tried to hit it. Neville then positioned to try disarming Al another time, but Al was quick this time and Neville's wand clattered out of his hand before he had a chance to send a spell. When Al returned his wand, though, Neville unexpectedly quickly cast a spell which hit the surprised Al's wand before he had a chance to understand what was going on.

On it went until there was the shrill sound of a whistle which alerted all of them to stop.

"That wasn't bad," Harry called out, "but there's definite room for improvement. Let's try again…."

Neville got quicker in the second part of practice, but Al also got his admittedly already somewhat rusty Seeker skills moving again (he wasn't used to having a build that was any burlier than usual). While Neville sent consecutive spells with a space of about ten seconds (or at least that was Al's estimate, he hadn't really been checking his watch) between them, Al dodged and got in a couple of spells in between.

Then there was the whistle again, and everybody turned to Harry, who said, "Well, that was pretty good, but we've overrun, we'd better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?"

"Sooner!" said Dean.

"The Quidditch season's about to start," reminded Angelina, "we need team practices too!"

"Let's say next Wednesday, then," suggested Harry, "and we can decide on additional meetings then…. Come on, we'd better get going…."

* * *

Harry seemed oddly hopeful for the next few weeks. Al attributed this to both the D.A. and the arrival of Quidditch season.

Speaking of Quidditch season, Al had an empty feeling while watching the Gryffindor team practice. He had been playing Seeker for Gryffindor since his third year and he had definitely gotten used to playing on the field whenever there was a Quidditch-related activity.

He was grateful, though, that this also meant he didn't need to be out on his broom in this weather. It was bitingly cold when November arrived. Al imagined James's reaction to this weather- James_ loved_ it when the weather was bad; it provided a challenge for him and his excellent Chaser skills.

It also seemed to make the entire Gryffindor team of this time even more determined to win the first match of the season. Their efforts _did_ pay off, as they won the match 160-40.

The problem was that Harry, George and Fred also got banned from playing Quidditch.

It might have meant good news for Al, seeing as he was itching to get on a broom again, but he found that he wasn't too eager to take the spot Harry had vacated.

Moving on, Al saw 1995's Hagrid the first time a few days after the match.

"Hagrid's back?" he'd asked, "But where did he go to in the first place?"

"How do you know about Hagrid?" Hermione had said, somewhat bemused. Al knew that he wasn't imagining that she was suspicious this time.

"Er-" said Al, racking his head, "I-" and then the bell had rung. _How clichéd, _Al had thought, _saved by the bell._

Al supposed she had reason enough to be suspicious of him anyway. In moments where his tongue slipped or when he acted as though he knew them all very well when he was supposed to have known them for only several months and maybe also because Al cared too much for them than a home-schooled American wizard should- Al would definitely expect Hermione to be the one who noticed them.

What better example of _caring too much_ could there be than what happened during the last meeting of Dumbledore's Army before the holidays?

Al had been in his bed, the curtains around his bed drawn, lying there tossing and turning as most people would before going to sleep, when he heard something fall on a floor, something _soft_- a pillow.

Although it wasn't very worrying, it was also exceedingly rare that anyone's pillow fell off their bed at Hogwarts, as each student was provided with only two pillows each. Al therefore peeked through the curtain- and almost fell off his bed.

He exchanged a worried look with Ron, who was also sitting up, and then looked back at the young Harry Potter thrashing around on his bed.

"Harry! HARRY!" Ron hurried over to the other boy. His shouts jolted the rest of the occupants of the dormitory out of their slumber.

Harry rolled to the end of his bed and puked.

Neville had come over to them. "He's really ill," he said, sounding frightened. "Should we call someone?"

Al struggled to keep his calm. "All right, what about- Madam Pomfrey or- or Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall-"

Neville rushed out of the door and Al looked back to Harry.

"Your dad," Harry said and for a frightening moment Al thought he was talking to him and he had somehow gleaned the truth. And then he realized that Harry was looking at Ron. "Your dad's… been attacked…."

"What?" asked Ron perplexedly.

"Your dad! He's been bitten, it's serious, there was blood everywhere…."

"_What_ happened to G- Mr Weasley?" Al asked, despite the fact that he understood full well what Harry had said; it just seemed so… impossible. But apparently, Fate _liked_ impossible. Al was getting pretty used to it.

"He was bitten by a snake," said Harry as clearly as he could manage.

"And you just saw this? _How_ did you see this? _How_ was it in your dream- or- or something like that-" Questions were flying out of Al's mind through his mouth and he might have continued if Harry hadn't vomited again.

"He's not _well_! He's in no state to answer questions!" Ron snapped to Al, shooting him an angry look. "Will you just _stop_ meddling?"

Most people would have probably been discouraged at this point, but Al had his mother's stubbornness, and although it manifested itself more in Lily, it did often show in Al. "Well _I'm sorry_, I was just trying to help!"

"Then it's not working!" said Ron heatedly.

Al pursed his lips. "Fine, but that's not the point, you've got to listen to _him_!"

"It was a _dream_!"

"It was _not_!" This came not from Al but from his father, who was still sweating and whose skin was still ashen. "It was _not_ a dream," he repeated. "Your dad was attacked by- by this _huge_ snake, Ron, and he's bleeding like mad and-"

"Harry, mate, _it was just a dream_! It's you we've got to worry about."

"I'm _okay_," said Harry firmly. Al didn't believe this for a second, but he knew that Harry's physical state was much less worrying than these scary visions. "It's your dad, he's wounded and it's serious!" he insisted. He tried to sit up, but Ron pushed him back down.

The seconds passed slowly. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were whispering to each other by the window beside Neville's bed.

A long time elapsed until Neville came with Professor McGonagall.

"Over here, Professor…."

Professor McGonagall's glasses looked as though they were slammed quickly on. "What is it, Potter? Where does it hurt?"

"It's Ron's dad. He's been attacked by a snake and it's serious, I saw it happen."

Harry recounted the whole story. When he finished, he said fiercely, "I'm not lying, and I'm not mad! I tell you, I saw it happen!"

"I believe you, Potter. Put on your dressing-gown- we're going to see the headmaster."

Relieved, Harry leapt up, slipped on his dressing-gown and put his glasses on. He followed Ron and Professor McGonagall out of the dormitory.

When their footsteps had faded, Al turned to Neville and asked quizzically, "Does this always happen?"

Neville shook his head.

Al ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Good."


	8. 8: The Cruelty of Time and Goodbyes

**This chapter may not look it, but it's dead important. It develops Al's character, which drastically affects the way he takes everything in this story; it introduces Natalie and fleshes out Scorpius, both of whom become key characters later on (not telling you how, though); it foreshadows the end of part two and part three. So pay attention to this chapter.**

**Also, I'm not making Rose and Scorpius a couple. I'm making them best friends, but that does not, I repeat, DOES NOT automatically make them a couple. My portrayal of Scorpius, I believe, is different from the playboy that most other authors portray him as.**

**I won't hold you any longer, here it goes...**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**:  
The Cruelty of Time

**[Al]**

"What just happened?" Seamus Finnigan said finally. "I mean," he said slightly defensively as Al turned to look at him, "I mean, Potter wakes up one night, tells everyone that Arthur Weasley got attacked by a giant snake, and everyone just _accepts_ his story?"

"In case you haven't noticed, it's been received with _scepticism_," Al said somewhat irritably.

"It's still confusing, though," Dean cut in as Seamus angrily opened his mouth. "_How_ would he know that a snake attacked Mr Weasley?"

"Er, I don't know either," said Al, spreading his hands. "But my best guess would be- er-" He racked his brain, trying to look for something, but there was _nothing_ he could find to answer their questions.

Luckily he was spared this by a knock on the door. Neville opened it. Professor McGonagall peered in, and Al jerked in surprise.

"Professor Dumbledore said you ought to come to his office," she said, her voice clipped.

Al nearly smiled at his namesake's foresight. Few people would have thought out of the box long enough to deduce that the people left in the room would have discussed what had just happened and would interrogate the only person in the room who even only vaguely understood it.

He followed Professor McGonagall down the spiral stairs into the common room, where he wasn't surprised to see Ginny, George and Fred congregated. Ginny's face was pale and the twins looked slightly less cheerful than usual.

None of them spoke on the way to the Headmaster's. Only the sound of their feet pattering on the floor could be heard.

After what seemed to be a very long time, they reached the door to Dumbledore's office. Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and Ginny rushed in and burst out, "Harry- what's going on? Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad hurt-"

Harry said hesitantly, "Well, I- er- he was- er-"

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," said Professor Dumbledore. "He has been taken to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

"How're we going? Floo Powder?"

"No. Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." He tilted his head towards a besmirched old kettle sitting on his desk. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back… I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you-"

In the centre of the office there was a flash of fire and Dumbledore said, "It is Fawkes's warning. She must know you're out of bed…. Minerva, go and head her off- tell her any story-"

And Professor McGonagall left to head off Umbridge.

"He said he'll be delighted," said a familiar, bored-sounding voice from one of the paintings. Al turned to see the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who (he knew from Christmas reunions) occasionally showed up in one of the rooms in Grimmauld Place. "My great-great-grandson has always had odd taste in houseguests…."

"Come here, then. And quickly, before anyone else joins us…."

Al, Harry, and the Weasleys scurried forward to surround the Portkey as Professor Dumbledore asked, "You have all used a Portkey before?" There was a murmur of confirmation, and Professor Dumbledore said, "Good. On the count of three then… one… two… _three_."

Al felt a jerk in region of the small of his back when he reached out to touch the kettle. Random objects, colours, sounds flashed past them as they were pulled forward in a rush of wind. Al braced himself for the landing.

Finally his feet hit the floor and his surroundings established itself to be 12 Grimmauld Place. 1995's Kreacher's voice reached his ears, "Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their father's dying…?"

"OUT!" commanded a dishevelled-looking Sirius Black and Kreacher shuffled out. Al frowned. However disagreeable 1995's version of Kreacher was, he didn't see anything that indicated that _any_ version of Kreacher should deserve this kind of treatment. In his time Kreacher was pretty well-liked.

Sirius held out his hand to help Ginny up. "What's going on? Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured-"

"Ask Harry," said Fred.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," agreed Uncle George.

Silence for a moment. Then Harry started, "It was- I had a- a kind of- vision…." And he recounted the story- he had been having a ridiculous dream before it (Al felt as though he was missing out on something here), when his dream changed and he was watching a snake slither along the floor towards Al's grandfather, who was asleep on the floor in the Department of Mysteries.

Al suddenly realized that the story was completely preposterous, but somehow, he still believed it. He felt a bit dubious though- the way Harry told it now was slightly different from what Harry had said back in the Dormitories.

Ginny, George and Fred seemed stunned by his story. Harry looked weary and Al deducted that he still lacked sleep- Al definitely did.

"Is Mum here?" Fred asked Sirius.

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet. The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now."

Ginny looked distressed. "We've got to go to St Mungo's. Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything- ?"

"Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St Mungo's!" exclaimed Sirius. Al suspected he didn't want to be left alone in Grimmauld Place again after acquiring some company.

"'Course we can go to St Mungo's if we want, he's our dad!" countered Fred. Al wished he hadn't mentioned the word 'dad'; it made his situation unsettlingly real.

The twins and Sirius exchanged arguments for a while until the younger pranksters calmed down enough. Sirius then summoned butterbeer and they drank the warm beverage in silence.

_He can't possibly be dead, though, _Al told himself, _granddad can't be dead… I grew up with him around, I _know_ him…._

But hadn't he changed this? Hadn't he changed anything while he was in the past? What if Arthur Weasley really was dead and it had been, in some part, his own grandson's fault? And if Al hadn't changed anything _yet_, it would only be a matter of time until he did. _Anything that could go wrong will go wrong,_ as Lily would say.

Lily and James. Al didn't want much more than to see them and their parents again. He missed Lily's perky voice and James's annoying pranks. He didn't want to be here, _now_, and he definitely didn't want to be with his twenty-six year younger family, grieving over what had happened to his granddad, and especially not with his father and mother who weren't even _together_ yet. Previously, Al would have shunned any notion of his parents not being together; it was as if his family had sprung into being as they were. Al didn't exactly want to be shown this stuff either, it was overwhelming and he hadn't even really absorbed the shock of being stuck in 1995, before he was even _born_. He couldn't even say _why_ he was in 1995. It was all so ridiculous and yet it felt so real. Al wished dearly that it was all really just a bad dream, that none of this was really happening. His actions, however, could affect the storyline of the past more than he would like to. He could cease to exist. With every second that passed it became less likely that he would ever see his family the same way again.

Looking back on it, his life in 2021 was near perfect. Of course, there was manipulation and false friends everywhere, but it seemed like paradise compared to the exhaustion of 1995. He'd had a bunch of cousins that were all fun to be with (except maybe Lucy, but there was _always_ an exception to the rule). He had fairly good looks, enough brains to make good enough decisions, and enough physical ability to make it into the Quidditch team as Seeker, he had been fairly rich, and he was popular because of his last name. He had also bowed to pressure, been very naive, slightly mean, pampered, and he may have also been condescending to others. Still, it was a pretty good life all in all.

And it was all swept away in a _blink_ and it was just so frustrating that he didn't even know _how_.

Al didn't know whether to feel like an intruder or to feel like part of the family. He didn't even know why he was here. Although it was certainly better than having to stay in the dormitory and be interrogated all night, he was clearly missing something here. Most likely, it was something _big_. He was missing something _he_ was supposed to know, and Dumbledore had spotted it….

"Fawkes!" Sirius cried, and Al looked up to see him catching a parchment and a phoenix feather, obviously from Dumbledore's phoenix. "That's not Dumbledore's handwriting- it must be a message from your mother- here-"

He pushed the letter into Uncle George's hand. George slit the letter open and read, _"Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum._ Still alive… but that makes it sound…."

_It makes it sound as though grandfather is almost there,_ Al finished sombrely.

Ginny was hugging her knees, Ron was gazing at the parchment as though it would yield some secret message more substantial than the one given, and Fred was now reading the letter for himself. Harry's hands were quivering.

Eventually, Sirius suggested, "What about you all go back to sleep? You might get more news in the morning." The twins looked appalled by the notion of sleep in this time, and Ginny and Ron shook their heads vigorously.

Fred and Ron eventually fell asleep, though, probably more to escape the situation than to actually rest. Ginny looked less like Lily than Al had ever seen her. She was still in her pyjamas, no trace of the bright smile that Al associated with Lily on her face, her eyes blank.

Harry's hair was sticking up on one side where he had slept on it. His glasses were lopsided; he didn't seem to notice. He looked guilty. Al couldn't fathom why.

Time trickled by slowly. Finally the kitchen door swung open and Al's grandmother came in, looking more tired than the rest of the people of the room, if that was possible, and bearing news.

"He's going to be all right," she announced, much to their relief. "He's sleeping. We can all go and visit him later. Bill's sitting with him now, he's going to take the morning off work."

George and Ginny rushed over and gave her a hug. Ron gave a relieved laugh.

Sirius jumped up. "Breakfast! Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!" Sirius shouted. When Kreacher did not enter the room, he grumbled, "Oh, forget it, then. So it's breakfast for- let's see- eight… Bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast-"

Al and Harry came to help Sirius set the tables, but Harry was pulled aside by Mrs Weasley and Al was left positioning the glasses on the dining table along with Sirius.

Everyone was a tad more cheerful as they ate the bacon and eggs that Mrs Weasley, Harry and Sirius had helped making. Al had noticed that Harry seemed to be deliberately avoiding making the bacon for some reason. It was, however, a relief to see Ginny smiling again, though not as widely as Al would have liked, and George and Fred with that mischievous light in their eyes that Al missed seeing in James's.

After breakfast everyone went up to the bedroom to get some more sleep, but Al _couldn't_ sleep, and he could tell he wasn't the only one.

He thought it best not to go and talk to Harry, since if Al were in his place he would definitely like to have his thoughts gathered. Surprisingly, Harry was the one who approached him.

"Couldn't sleep, either?" Al asked, tilting his head.

"I shouldn't," muttered Harry.

"What do you mean, _shouldn't_?"

"I-" Harry seemed to consider this question for a moment, before saying, "You know, Ron was right."

"Ron is right a lot," said Al, "but which instance are you talking about?"

"Maybe you _do_ meddle a lot."

Al felt slightly offended. "Excuse me? You're one to talk. _Maybe you do meddle a lot_, says the guy who saved the Sorcerer's stone in his first year and killed a giant basilisk in his second, most likely without the knowledge and consent of the proper authorities?"

Harry tried for a laugh. "Yeah, I suppose I'm being a bit of a hypocrite. Still," he added seriously, "you shouldn't be meddling."

"How the bloody hell could you call anything I did _meddling_?"

"Why are you here, if you're not meddling?"

"I don't know," said Al matter-of-factly, "it was _Dumbledore_ who sent me along with you…. At first I thought it was so I could avoid the interrogation. _Yes_, Harry, you were talked about back in the dormitory. But then, that's not a very justifiable reason, is it?" Al didn't include the actual reason he was there- Arthur Weasley was his grandfather, but they didn't know that. Harry gave a nod. "…I don't know."

"Well, nobody really knows how Dumbledore's mind works, right?"

"…Says the person who saw his best friend's father get attacked by a snake in his dream."

Harry winced.

"You don't really know how you saw it, do you?"

"Well, actually…," began Harry hesitantly, "I… think it had something to do with Voldemort."

Al felt his eyes widening. "You've been seeing _Voldemort_?"

"Worse," said Harry, "If it really was him, I've been seeing through his eyes…."

Al pinched the bridge of his nose. He really needed some time to digest all this information. Overwhelming him with facts in a short time and leaving him stewing in them for a long time was not a good strategy to get him learning.

"_How_ did he become a snake? Is he an Animagus? But… just how did you see-"

"Er- I can feel what Voldemort feels sometimes… if you also think I'm insane now, it's okay," he added gloomily.

Al shook his head. "Incredible. So you have this kind of… er, empathy link?"

"You could say that, I suppose."

"_How_?"

"This," Harry said, tapping the scar on his forehead.

"What _is_ so important about that scar?" Al wondered aloud.

Grimacing, Harry said, "Dumbledore reckons Voldemort left a bit of himself here."

"Like what?" Al pressed.

"Well, I can speak Parseltongue-"

"You can _what_?" Al interrupted, sure he had misheard him.

"I can speak to snakes," Harry said very slowly and clearly.

"I don't understand." Al shook his head. He'd never known that his father had any ability to speak Parseltongue- it had definitely never been discussed, and Al could understand why.

And wasn't Parseltongue a genetic trait? Wouldn't this mean that _Al_ would be able to speak to snakes?

"I didn't expect you to."

"Fair enough," said Al.

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks, Teddy's mother, and the Auror Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody arrived after lunch to escort them in London.

The plan, apparently, was to take a train to the middle of the city, closest to where the St Mungo's entrance would be. Al was about to ask why they didn't just Apparate or Floo their way there when they arrived at the entrance.

The cover was much shabbier than it had been back in 2021. The mannequins were sporting clothes from the eighties, and Al was rather sure that Lily, who didn't like mannequins (she was terribly afraid of dolls and anything that looked like them), wouldn't even dare to look at them. In his time, it had been a closed-down electronics shop with PlayStations and old phone models stocked in front, the door boarded and the 'Wi-Fi Hotspot' sign managing to remain stuck to the door despite the fact that it had only one screw to stick it there. There were stereotypically plain, white mannequin busts there, too, dressed in collared shirts and sporting 2010 headphones and camera bags and things, and they were the ones that they would whisper to, but they didn't look nearly as freaky as these.

Al waited for the mannequins to be alerted to their presence, and then stepped through the glass and there was that distinctive, refreshing feeling one got after stepping through St Mungo's glass window.

Mrs Weasley inquired about her husband's new ward at the Welcome Witch's desk, and was told that he was at the Dai Llewellyn ward, which didn't sound like very good news to Al. It didn't comfort him to see the words on the door: **"Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn ward: Serious Bites**.

"We'll wait outside, Molly," said Nymphadora Tonks. "Arthur won't want too many visitors at once…. It ought to be just the family first."

And so the Weasley family was ushered inside by their mother, who was dragging Harry along.

Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody then turned to look at Al, who had been getting so used to being mostly unnoticed that he nearly jumped.

"You're going to discuss something about the Order with Mr Weasley, aren't you?" Al said, taking in Tonks's shoulder-length bubble-gum pink hair and the electric blue magical eye whizzing in Mad-Eye's eye socket.

"Be careful with your words, boy!" hissed Mad-Eye.

"Sorry," Al said quickly. "So… why am I here, then?"

Before Mad-Eye could speak, Tonks said, "Dumbledore reckons that you should be kept in the loop."

"_What_?"

Mad-Eye grunted. "He seems to see something important about you."

Tonks shot him a look. "We don't know, exactly," she said. "But if Dumbledore says it, he's likely right."

"Still can't see why you're to be told, though," said Mad-Eye gruffly. "You're just a fifteen-year-old American without an accent who'd only met us all this year, after all, aren't you?"

"We think you're not who you- and Dumbledore- say you are," summed up Tonks in a whisper.

Al crossed his arms defensively. "You're right. I'm not."

"And you're not going to tell who you are, are you?" pressed Mad-Eye.

"No, I can't," said Al.

"Also, I think your name is near to 'Alexander Prentice', or at least you've been called that for some time before you actually used it as an alias, since you respond right away when you're called that," whispered Tonks.

"Well, yes," said Al, nodding.

"Which one was right?"

"I think I've told you enough," Al said, shrugging.

"You're very frustrating to try and talk to," Tonks told him, flashing a grin.

Al returned it. "Thank you for the compliment," he said sarcastically. He could see how this woman became Teddy's mother- like her son, she was frank but very fun to be with.

As if on cue, the door swung forward and the younger Weasleys and Harry streamed out.

"Wait," Fred said, his eyes widening in mock hurt, "Alexander gets to listen in?"

"That is so exceedingly fair," continued George.

"It's not biased at all," finished Fred.

"Oh, shut up, the both of you," snapped Ginny.

The atmosphere as Al entered the room was much more serious than he would have liked. Lying on his bed was Arthur Weasley, with bandages wrapping one of his arms and his wife by his side.

Mr Weasley smiled brightly when they entered the room. His blue eyes examined Tonks's and Mad-Eye's faces, and then settled on Al.

"Oh, well, look who was given permission to witness and Order meeting," he said softly.

"The boy's not going to have anything to listen to if we don't start talking, Arthur," growled Moody.

"Well, I suppose so." Mr Weasley shrugged.

"Well, for starters, that snake that attacked you, Arthur- we really don't know what happened to it." whispered Tonks. "I mean, they searched the whole area but they couldn't find the snake anywhere, it just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur…. But You-Know-Who can't have expected a snake to get in, can he?"

"I reckon he sent it as a lookout, 'cause he's not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he's trying to get a clearer picture of what he's facing and if Arthur hadn't been there the beast would've had much more time to look around." Mr Weasley looked slightly pleased at this.

"Didn't he already know what he was up against, though?" Al asked, and they turned to him, looking rather surprised. "It can't hurt to think that the enemy's one step ahead of us, right?" he said in his defence. "He might just be setting up a red herring for us, making sure we're on the wrong trail and things…."

"We've got to consider that," said Mr Weasley and Al couldn't help but feel thrilled that they were taking him seriously.

"I wouldn't put it past him to have you seriously injured as a distraction," agreed Mrs Weasley.

"_Or_," said Moody emphasized, "he might want to distract us by making us think he's distracting us. I say we go with the original flow of conversation."

"How are we even sure the snake is Voldemort's?" Al asked. The people around him flinched.

"We aren't _entirely_ sure that the snake is Voldemort's," said Tonks, "but under the circumstances he's the most likely."

"Circumstances such as what?" pressed Al.

"Well, for one, boy, he's the one who has the most reasons to do so," said Moody.

"Harry says that Voldemort had a snake with him," supplied Mrs Weasley.

"As well as the fact that _Harry _had seen this," said Tonks.

"The way he talks about it, it's like he'd seen it from the snake's eyes," said Al. "That must be a little worrying…."

"Yeah, well, there's something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that," said Moody.

"Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning," Mrs Weasley chipped in.

"'Course he's worried. The boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake…. Obviously, Potter doesn't realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him we're in for an actual problem."

Al found himself chewing his fingernails, a habit he'd picked up as a child, and gotten rid of for a while, but it was clearly coming back now. "Do you really think Voldemort's possessing him, though?" said he, stubbornly refusing to accept this. "I mean… he seems pretty in character to me…."

"We can't be too sure, can we?" said Mad-Eye.

"Do we know anybody else who was ever possessed by Voldemort, then?"

Mr and Mrs Weasley exchanged a look.

"Well," Mr Weasley said, "there's Ginny in her first year…."

_Fine, Fate, be that way._ "What did she say it felt like?"

Mrs Weasley grimaced. "She said she couldn't remember anything for hours at a time…."

"Did this happen to Harry?" pursued Al.

"Well, obviously we don't know; we weren't exactly sleeping in the same dormitory as him, now, were we?" Moody raised his eyebrow.

"Oh… right. Sorry." Al felt like an idiot. "Anyway… I didn't notice anything like that happening, although I don't exactly see him all the time…."

"One of us has to ask him, then," suggested Tonks. "He's the only one who knows for sure. And then if he _hasn't_ been having this memory loss, we can rule possession out." She looked expectantly at Al, who realized that she meant that _he_ had to ask Harry about it.

"Er… all right."

"If the reason Harry sees into You-Know-Who's snake isn't possession, what is it?" Tonks voiced, and they were quiet for a while.

"Well, most probably, Dumbledore knows," said Mr Weasley, smiling wryly.

"Wait," blurted Al, "G- Mr Weasley, why were you in there at that time in the first place?"

Tonks and Mad-Eye exchanged a look while Mrs Weasley said carefully, "You've heard about the weapon Sirius was talking about, am I right, Alexander?"

Al nodded. "I… er, overheard things…. What about it?"

All four adults cocked their eyebrows, waiting for him to catch on.

"Wait! Oh- _that's_ what you were there for? You were _protecting_ it?"

"We think it protects itself well enough, actually. But, as the Muggles say, 'better safe than sorry.'" Mr Weasley looked proud of his extensive knowledge of Muggle behaviour, and Al had to admit that it _was_ pretty good for a wizard who'd had hardly any experience with Muggles.

"What _is_ this weapon?" Al inquired.

Moody rumbled, "Sorry, boy, but we can't even tell you that."

Al tried for a smile, and he was surprised to find that it felt quite natural now.

"Well, Al, I suppose that's about as much as we can tell you right now," said Mrs Weasley. "What about you go join the rest now? Oh, and," she added, seriously, "you can't tell them anything, do you understand?"

"Yeah," said Al.

It wasn't until he was at the ward's door that Al realized that, if just for a few minutes, he had, however unofficially, played the role of a member of the Order.

* * *

When they arrived at Grimmauld Place again, Harry began acting like an introvert. He hardly spoke during mealtimes and the rest of the time kept himself shut up in the rooms of the house. Al wasn't very comfortable with this. The rest of the younger portion of the house seemed to be trying to catch Harry's eye, whereas the Order was simply befuddled.

Al had a sneaking suspicion that the others had been listening into their conversation. There were a few Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes products that could help them. When he got around asking Ron whether they indeed had been listening the next day, Ron's ears went red the way that Hugo's did whenever the answer to Al's question was yes.

"What did you hear about?" asked Al.

"Something about Harry being possessed by You-Know-Who-"

"Oh, _that_," Al said, nearly laughing. "I think we can rule that one out pretty well."

"He'll be glad to hear that," murmured Ron, and Al grinned.

"You haven't spoken to him, have you?"

Ron shook his head. "He's locked himself up in the room since we got back. He won't talk to us when he _is_ out, either. Ginny told me she reckons he still thinks he's being possessed."

"I don't think so. If he'd been possessed, surely Voldemort would've attacked the Headquarters already… right?"

"Not necessarily," said a voice said from the door.

Al and Ron turned to see a brunette standing at the kitchen door, her face coloured pink from the cold wind.

Ron exclaimed, _"Hermione!"_

"Ginny told me what had happened," she said, smiling at Ron.

"How did _you_ get here? Weren't you supposed to be skiing with your parents?" Ron's eyes widened. "It went really badly, didn't it?" He began to laugh. "I _told_ you that you weren't cut out for sports…."

"It went excellently, for your information," she said.

Before the silence could get too long, Al asked, "Aren't you going to spend Christmas with them, though?"

"They think I'm going to Hogwarts, actually." Hermione's cheeks tinged a little pinker. Ron started laughing again.

"Stop that!" said Hermione. She turned to Al. "Ginny told me that Harry wasn't talking to any of you."

"He hasn't," agreed Al. "Ron! Stop laughing. I'm serious."

"No, Sirius is in Buckbeak's room… last I checked. You're Al."

Under normal circumstances, Al would have found this joke hilarious, but the circumstances haven't been normal for months. Al doubted whether such a thing as 'normal' still existed. But the probability of the existence of such a concept was probably slightly bigger than the chance of his existence if ever things went awry. And besides, Ron's joke just reminded him of James, and that was somewhat painful.

"I'm _being_ serious," Al corrected himself.

Ron didn't seem to be able to make up a witty comment using this. "Fine."

"Shouldn't we talk to him?" asked a Ginny from behind Ron, and he gave a start.

"That sounds like a good idea," said Al.

"All right," said Hermione, "let's go up to him then."

Ron led the way to the boys' room, but it was Hermione who opened the door. It turned out that Harry wasn't inside. Al then asked himself, _If I wanted to avoid everyone in the house, where would I hide?_

_Well, _he thought, _the attic, but Harry probably doesn't even _know_ that there's an attic._

_All right,_ Al tried to amend, _if you were Harry, which room would you go to?_

Somewhere that was empty of people (obviously). _But which room is empty right now?_

There were a few, but the one that immediately jumped to Al's mind was Buckbeak the hippogriff's room.

He therefore told the rest of the group that Harry would probably be in that particular room and they navigated the way towards it. Hermione was, again, the first person to reach the door. She proceeded to pound on the door.

"I know you're in there. Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked Harry's familiar voice and Al followed Hermione into the room, Ginny and Ron trailing behind. "I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad."

"They let me off; I told them that everyone serious about the exams was going to be at Hogwarts, studying. Can we move to another room?" she added. "I don't fancy having a chat in this one…."

Harry seemed surprised to see Ginny and Ron waiting for them outside the door. While they were walking back to the boys' room, Hermione asked, "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry answered, but Al knew that was just because it was what seemed natural to say.

"Oh, don't lie, Harry. These three say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St Mungo's." Hermione pushed open the door and sat down on Ron's bed, followed by Ron himself, and then Ginny, whilst Al seated himself on his bed near the window. It wasn't much fun to be near Harry whenever he was in this type of mood.

"They do, do they?" Harry turned to glare at the three of them.

"Well, you have!" Ginny said, slightly angrily. "And you won't look at any of us!"

"It's you lot who won't look at me!" said Harry, equally crossly.

"Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other," said Hermione, whose mood, in contrast, was exceptionally light.

"Very funny," said Harry harshly.

"Stop that," said Al somewhat irately. "D'you really think we'd gossip about you?"

"Well, you did-" began Harry, but Ginny cut across him.

"It's because we're _worried_ about you!" she said. "You won't talk to any of us and-"

"Couldn't have made much difference, could it, considering you won't want to talk to me anyway, what with what you've heard-"

"You don't even know the whole story!" said Al exasperatedly.

"How could he, seeing as he won't even speak to us?" said Ginny, sounding annoyed that the conversation seemed to be circling, but always avoiding, this fact.

"I didn't want anyone to talk to me," said Harry. Something about the way he phrased this struck his son as odd.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," Ginny said, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

Harry stiffened, and then turned towards her.

"I forgot."

"Lucky you," said Ginny coolly, and Al had that familiar sensation that he was missing something.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, sounding sincere. "So… so do you think I'm being possessed, then?"

"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing? Are there big blank periods you don't know you've been up to?"

Al leaned in; this was what the Order had been asking.

"No," Harry said after a slight pause.

"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you. When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."

There was silence as Harry relaxed his tense position.

"That dream I had about your dad and the-"

"Harry, if you're still worrying about being possessed by Voldemort, you can relax," said Al. "In case you're forgetting, I was _there_. I heard the entire conversation. The Order's basing it off of Ginny's experience. I think we can trust her verdict."

"This was different from Ginny; she can't remember doing it… _I_ can…. It was like I _was_ the snake…."

"But that's ridiculous, it doesn't make sense _logically_," Al pointed out. "If you're being possessed by Voldemort, why would you be seeing through a snake?"

"Maybe he's an Animagus," said Harry but without any conviction.

"If you'd ever listened during Transfiguration," put in Hermione, "surely you'd remember that there needs to be a certain quality in a person to become an Animagus, and Voldemort doesn't fit."

"You don't _understand_ how bad it would be if- if he was really-"

"I think we know that well enough," said Al.

"But what if- what if I'm the weapon?"

Al was somewhat surprised by this. "You mean the weapon that they were talking about? The one they're guarding?"

Harry opened his mouth, but then nodded.

"Nah," said Al. "You're not."

A smile worked its way onto Harry's face, but Al was more worried than he had been before the conversation. He'd seen the gaping hole in the story: if it wasn't because Voldemort was possessing Harry, how did Harry see what he had?

* * *

Although Al had bought gifts for the others, he knew that it wasn't very likely that they would give him presents as well. Still, he'd entertained that feeble hope that they would include him and was pleasantly surprised to see a small pile of gifts at the foot of his bed on Christmas morning.

The said stack was indeed smaller than what he was used to, but he'd been an idiot to even expect any. He'd also had a huge family, even compared to the Weasleys of this time.

His surprise must have been very clear on his face, because Ron, who had clearly been awake for long along with Harry, said, "What, weren't expecting presents from us, were you?"

Ron looked over at Harry, and they appeared to have a short exchange which was punctuated by slightly amused smiles.

"I wasn't," admitted Al. And he hadn't; all of his family wasn't here, and at the rate that things were going, he'd never see them again, or at least not the same way.

He briefly envisioned meeting his family as old as, even a tad older than, his father. He didn't like the idea, but it was going to be what things were going to be if it continued in this manner.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, we're your _friends_," said Harry, who was holding the book Al had given him, _Seeker's Feints and How to Spot Them_.

The concept made Al somewhat uncomfortable. He'd much rather have Harry back as his father, Ron as his uncle and so on, as things used to be. Accepting them as his friends would mean accepting that he belonged in the past, and Al _didn't_ belong in the past. He'd had a wonderful life back in the future. He'd had one foot in all doors; he'd had limitless opportunities. It would never be that way back here in 1995.

"Go on, open your presents," prodded Ron, and Al began working through the pile. The first smile that came from genuine happiness lit his face for the first time in a couple of months.

On the other hand, they would make excellent friends.

* * *

_I could change things._

If Al accepted 1995 as his present, he _could_ change things. Not just accidentally. He could deliberately and purposely change things for the better.

He could prevent deaths. He could save Fred. Teddy could grow up with his parents around.

He was, of course, at a disadvantage, as he only knew less than half of the entire story. For all he knew, one move and he could erase his family from existence. And he could of course erase himself from existence. But Al wasn't too sure he had much cause to exist anymore: he'd lost his family. He'd lost his friends, and everything he ever knew and loved.

And besides, they wouldn't really notice that he'd stopped existing, right? He'd just be _gone_. But he could make their lives even a little bit better. All that he could do that would have a sure result was to prevent the terrible things that he knew happened. He was just a speck in space and time, after all, not too terribly important. And he wasn't sure that he'd stop existing; for all he knew everything he did here already happened. He didn't know how time worked. He was no genius.

Also, he might be able to change his name. Heck, even he could say that Albus Severus was a terrible name. Maybe alone they would be nice touches. Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape. But integrating them into one name? It wasn't exactly ear candy.

He'd be playing with fire. But it wouldn't be too bad. It probably wouldn't be too terribly logical to risk being blinked out of existence for something as insignificant as his name, yet it wasn't as though his just being there wasn't counted as risking his existence.

_I just want to go home._

How didn't he see that his life back there was perfect? It was just now that he'd lost everything that he learned to appreciate it.

_"Ouch!"_

"Oh, sorry, Lavender!"

They were in the Room of Requirement, practicing the Patronus charm. Lavender, who was right across Al, had had her shirt's collar set on fire by a wayward charm Al had cast. Al frantically extinguished it with an _Aguamenti_. It left Lavender soaking wet and understandably cross.

"You have to _focus_," said Harry, who had been watching from the other end of the room.

"I know," grumbled Al. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Nothing happened.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_ Al tried again, watching his wand tip closely.

"You have to think of a good memory," reminded Harry.

Al had plenty of good memories, but most of them were associated with the family he had lost and those merely saddened him.

aHe had seven months of being in the past to work from. Al sifted through them for a while, before settling on Christmas. _"In case you haven't noticed, we're your friends."_

_"Expecto Patronum!"_ Vapour issued from his wand's tip.

"Something happier," suggested Harry. Al's face fell. That had been one of the happiest memories he had in the past, but then there hadn't been very many to choose from in the first place.

He had to work on something from back where he came from.

_"Albus Severus. You were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew."_

_"But _just say_-"_

_"- then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al."_

Al lifted his wand. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

To his surprise, a silver bird erupted from his wand and fluttered around him, regarding the people around it.

"That's a killdeer," observed Hermione, whose otter Patronus was skipping about.

"It doesn't actually _kill deer_, does it?" Al asked, rather concerned. He knew, from Rose, that Patronuses often reflected the personalities of their owners, and his father's Patronus happened to be a stag.

"No, that's ridiculous," said Hermione. "It was named for its call… why are you so worried?"

"I like deer," said Al somewhat defensively.

"Why's your Patronus a killdeer?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem to be the type of person that would have a bird Patronus…."

"Well, why's yours?" retorted Al. "You don't seem to be the type of person that would have an otter Patronus…. That and the fact that Ron has a Jack Russell terrier for a Patronus…."

"Excuse me?" Hermione's face was red-hot, and Al was preparing to spin a long and partially fabricated story when he noticed that everyone in the room had gone quiet.

Al looked violently around before his eyes settled on a house-elf. He probably wouldn't even have noticed him if he weren't wearing a stack of hats on his head.

"Harry Potter, sir… Harry Potter, sir… Dobby has come to warn you… but the house-elves have been warned not to tell…."

The house-elf attempted to run into the wall, but Harry seized his wrists and asked him, "What's happened, Dobby?"

"Harry Potter… she… she…."

"Who's 'she,' Dobby?" Harry's eyes widened. "Umbridge? What about her? Dobby- she hasn't found out about this- about us- about the D.A.?"

Dobby tried to kick himself, and Harry asked, evidently trying to keep unruffled, "Is she coming?"

Dobby wailed, and burst out, "Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"

Harry stood up and, unable to keep calm anymore, shouted, "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? RUN!"

It took a moment to sink into their minds and then they all scrambled towards the exit. Al, with his Seeker skills, was able to get out of the door within the first ten people, when he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be looking out just for himself.

"HARRY! GINNY! RON, HERMIONE!" he yelled over his shoulder. He was immensely relieved when he spotted the latter three behind him. He wheeled around, trying to look for Harry, but he wasn't there and Al turned his attention to the ones present.

"The Owlery, we have to get to the Owlery, it's the nearest!" he said urgently, quickening his pace.

They turned sharply around a corridor.

"How'd you- know about the Owlery?" said Hermione through her panting, her voice high. "You're- new- you shouldn't even be able to- tell the way without thinking-"

"Just-" Al flung the Owlery door open and they poured in. "Shut the door! Shut it!" he nearly shouted, and Ginny pushed it closed.

"Don't yell at my sister like that," said Ron angrily.

"I didn't mean to!" said Al shrilly. "Hermione, d'you have a quill on you?"

Hermione rummaged through her pockets and dug out one of the old types of self-inking quills (apparently they'd been invented already, Al hadn't thought they were), the type that blotted.

"Ron, listen to see if any of them are there. Ginny, you sit down there, next to Hedwig," he instructed, and they did so. "Try to act calm. I've just sent a letter to the American Ministry, asking them for some of my documents."

He turned to open Hedwig's cage, and then remembered that he didn't have a key. He cursed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Hermione, give me a hairpin," said Ginny. Hermione handed her one and she began working on the lock.

"Where'd you learn that?" asked Ron, looking fairly impressed.

"Fred and George," said Ginny. "I'm not quite as good as them, but-" Hedwig's door swung open and Al crouched down next to the owl.

"Hedwig, I'm sorry, I have to ask for a favour. Could you stay out of the Owlery for a day or two? Do some hunting. Just stay in the Forbidden Forest."

"This plan of yours isn't completely good," Hermione pointed out.

"If you could call it a plan," said Al absently as he moved out of Hedwig's way. "I'm just making things up as I go."

"You do realize that they're checking the mail, right?"

"They're coming," Ron warned from the door.

"Keep calm," said Al, closing Hedwig's cage very slowly and then chewing his nails.

The door opened and Al straightened. He was facing a fairly tall Slytherin boy with blue eyes and either dark blond or light brown hair (Al didn't know what to call it). At his shoulder was a ginger girl. She wouldn't have passed for a Weasley, though- she had no freckles, her eyes were hazel, her robes were spanking new, and of course, she was a Slytherin. What struck Al were her eyes- they were almond-shaped. This one facial detail, along with her red hair and age (about thirteen), made her look painfully like Lily, although she did not have his sister's eye colour.

"What are you doing here at this time of the day, Weasley?" demanded the boy. They all knew that he knew why they were there.

"They went with me," said Al. "I'm sending a letter to the American Ministry. I have to ask for my documents."

The boy turned on him. "You're fooling nobody, Prentice."

"I'm afraid of the dark," Al said, and this, at least, was true. "I asked Hermione to come with me. We bumped into Ron and Ginny on the way."

"I wasn't talking about your story, although that is obviously a lie," said the boy impatiently. "I was talking about the 'American Ministry' part."

"What is that supposed to mean, Nott?" said Ginny, folding her arms.

"I mean he isn't American," said Nott. "Just how thick are you Gryffindors? I _knew_ you were all brawn, no brains at all. Think about it. Prentice doesn't have an American accent, even Natalie says so, and she ought to be the expert there, as she is actually American. He says he got the English accent from his mum, but staying in America for his entire life would give him an American accent. Professor Snape also says he doesn't spell his words like an American in his essays. What can you make out of that, eh?" He sneered at the silent Gryffindors. "He lies, and if I were-"

"Stop talking," said Al.

"Why should I?" Nott shot a sly smile towards him.

"I sent a letter to the American Ministry," repeated Al. "I used Harry Potter's owl." He gestured towards Hedwig's empty cage.

"Theodore," said Hermione firmly, "there are two prefects in this room. We do not tolerate rule-breaking even from members of our own house. As he said, Al sent a letter to the American Ministry. There's nothing more to the story."

Theodore Nott gave her a disdainful smirk. "I'm not terribly sure about that."

"Stop talking," Al said again.

"Why should I?" countered Nott again.

"Stop talking about things that you don't know enough about," said Al, his voice rising. "I would be careful about who I cross if I were you."

"Oh, I think I am careful enough," said Nott. "I think you're unimportant enough to cross."

Before Al knew what he was doing, Al aimed a punch at Nott's nose. Nott had enough sense to try and swerve to his side, but Al was too quick and his hit still landed.

"Theo!" cried Natalie, finally snapping out of her passiveness. She checked Nott's nose, which wasn't affected- Al's blow had landed on Nott's cheek, which now had a circular patch of light red on it. She slipped out her wand and held it in front of her. "I'm not afraid to use this," she tried to threaten (it didn't work very well, as Al didn't exactly think of her as terrifying). "I've got Professor Umbridge's consent! I-"

"Natalie," said Nott, "you're wasting your time. Come on, we've got more _important_ things to do…."

* * *

The days leading to the Easter holidays were possibly some of the most rebellious that Al had ever gone through. The rules were stricter as well. He didn't particularly like the Inquisitorial Squad, and had gotten so many points docked off him that he lost count. Dumbledore had also gone on the run, which didn't make him exactly very happy.

According to Harry, Dumbledore had left a message for Al. Three words: 'I'll keep trying.'

As far as Al could figure, this meant that Dumbledore would keep trying to do the impossible and find a way to put Al back where he belonged. Al didn't really see the point of it anymore. If _Albus Dumbledore _hadn't found a way already, it wasn't very likely that it would happen at all.

When Easter finally arrived, he focused on his academics. The O.W.L.s loomed over them, more intimidating than ever. Al had spent about half of his fourth year studying up for these particular examinations. He certainly hadn't expected that he would be doing his O.W.L.s eleven years before his birth.

The career pamphlets also came. Al already knew what he wanted to be- an Auror, but he supposed it was better to be safe than sorry and looked up a few backup jobs. He'd chosen Auror, Healer and (he'd chosen this on a whim) Unspeakable, specializing in Temporal Manipulation. He'd examined the pamphlets about them, and even found a rare pamphlet about the Unspeakables. Surprisingly, Harry, Ron and Hermione haven't decided what job they wanted. This affected Al in a way an American transfer would never be.

When it was classes again, Al had his career consultation. The meeting meant that he would miss the second half of Defence. It also meant that, unlike the other consultations, Umbridge wouldn't be there, which made Al wonder what Professor McGonagall had to say to Umbridge to let them talk without her 'supervision.' Al had talked to Professor McGonagall about his options. Apparently, all three required Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration (at least an E in N.E.W.T.s for all three), Charms and Potions (E for Auror and Healer, O for Unspeakable), and an E in Herbology for Healer.

For some reason, though, when the consultation ended and Al was already outside everyone was in chaos, and it was then that Al found out that George and Fred had run away to start the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and this left most of the students grinning for days. The tide also seemed to be turning in their direction, as they'd won the Quidditch cup.

Euphoria, however, didn't stop the O.W.L.s from approaching.

Al had started studying obsessively during the last two weeks of May. He'd spend time reciting the ingredients of several complicated potions, as well as the ingredients' respective properties, under his breath, until Ron told him off. Fortunately Al had drilled the ingredients into his mind enough that he could rattle all of it off in his sleep. He had also taken to testing himself and going over Hermione's notes. Since he was now forbidden from enumerating Potions ingredients, he now took to the definitions of charms and spells until Ron warned him that if he would not stop muttering to himself he would be given a detention. Even then Al turned to practical and Ron gave up. He focused especially on Charms and Potions, as those two were the ones he _had_ to have an O in if he wanted to be able to choose to be an Unspeakable.

Both of his Charms exams turned out all right, he supposed, but only because he had studied vigorously. Theoretical Transfiguration was halfway to a fiasco, however; Al had gotten a serious case of mental block and he had probably mixed up a quarter of the spells, but he still dared to hope for an Exceeds Expectations. His Herbology examinations, both theoretical and practical, were unremarkable; Al was pretty sure he would be getting an E.

Defence was rather enjoyable. Al had gotten his fondness for Defence from his father and answered the theoretical examinations easily. The practical bit was fun, in fact.

The next few O.W.L.s were pretty uneventful, although Al was completely positive that he had gotten a D or below in Divination. Astronomy found Professor McGonagall hit by four Stunners straight in the chest and an attempt to attack Hagrid, but Al didn't have time to dwell on that.

History of Magic started out as indescribably dull. The questions were useless and occasionally silly (_In your opinion, was the attempt of Damien the Daft to mock Emeric the Evil in order to support goblin rights wise?_ Of course it was. Of _course_ it was, it _didn't_ find Damien the Daft beheaded and his remains incinerated by Emeric the Evil.)

Halfway through the exam, while Al was trying to answer '_What was the object that Ophelia of Liechtenstein claimed to have taken from her own son, who she claimed to have killed?'_ Harry began screaming.

"What the-" Al blinked hard. "Professor Tofty!" he called.

The man had already been running down their line. "Mr Potter!" he said, "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay!" said Harry, "I just- I-" he stuttered.

Professor Tofty steered him away, to the Entrance Hall, saying, "You all go back to your test, now!"

Al raised an eyebrow and looked at Ron, who was at the end of the line to his right. Ron caught his eye and gave him a look that said quite clearly that they'd catch up to Harry later. Al looked to Hermione for confirmation. She nodded at Ron.

Al scribbled some things in the last few blanks, as the hourglass was nearly empty. When it was finally over, Hermione and Ron were the first to clear out. Al had to run to catch up to them but was caught in the surge of the crowd. When he was able to extract himself at last, he spotted a head of what was quite obviously Weasley hair and hurried towards it.

When he finally caught up, he saw that it was not Ron, but Ginny.

"You haven't seen Ron and Hermione, have you?"

"Oh, yes, they're at the first floor," said Ginny.

"And Harry?"

She shook her head. "No, sorry, I haven't."

"Thank you anyway."

Al ran up a flight of stairs and looked around to see if any of the three were around, but to no avail. That was, until he heard Harry shouting.

"-WHAT I'D JUST-"

Ginny rushed past him, this time with Luna trailing behind her. Al broke into a run to keep up with her.

"Heard him, too?"

"Yes."

Ginny found the classroom that they were in and pressed the door open. "Hi. We recognized Harry's voice- what are you yelling about?"

"Never you mind," said Harry gruffly.

Al poked his head into the doorway. "You two left me there alone," he said slightly accusatively, looking at Ron and Hermione. Ron looked a bit guilty.

Meanwhile, Ginny and Harry were semi-arguing.

"I was only wondering whether I could help."

"Well, you can't."

"You're being rather rude, you know," said Luna.

Harry cursed.

"Wait. Wait… Harry, they _can _help."

They all turned to look at Hermione.

"Listen. Harry, we need to establish whether Sirius really has left headquarters-"

"I've told you, I saw-"

"Harry, I'm begging you, please! Please let's just check that Sirius isn't at home before we go charging off to London- if we find out he's not there then I swear I won't try and stop you, I'll come, I'll d-do whatever it takes to try and save him-"

"Sirius is being tortured NOW! We haven't got time to waste-"

"But if this is a trick of V-Voldemort's- Harry, we've got to check, we've got to-"

"How? How're we going to check?"

"We'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if we can contact him. We'll draw Umbridge away again, but we'll need lookouts, and that's where we can use Ginny and Luna."

"Yeah, we'll do it," said Ginny right away. Luna, however, asked, "When you say 'Sirius,' are you talking about Stubby Boardman?"

When no-one gathered the will to answer her, Al volunteered, "I'll be the distraction. I can figure something out."

"Okay. Okay, if you can think of a way of doing this quickly, I'm with you, otherwise I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right now-"

Luna looked slightly surprised. "The Department of Mysteries?" she asked, "But how are you going to get there?"

"You, Ron, you can go and be another distraction; the more confused they are the better it will be for us," said Hermione grimly, ignoring Luna. "Now, we need to keep students away from her office while we force entry, or some Slytherin's bound to go and tip her off…."

Ginny offered that she and Luna stand on either end of the corridor and warn everyone that someone had set off Garrotting Gas.

"Okay, well then, Harry, you and I will be under the Invisibility Cloak, and we'll sneak into the office and you can talk to Sirius-"

"He's not there, Hermione!"

"I mean, you can- check whether Sirius is at home or not while I keep watch, I don't think you should be in there alone, Lee's already proved the window's a weak spot, sending those nifflers through it."

"I… okay, thanks," mumbled Harry.

"Right, well, even if we can do all of that, I don't think we're going to be able to bank more than five minutes, not with Filch and the wretched Inquisitorial Squad floating around."

"Five minutes'll be enough. C'mon, let's go-"

_"Now?"_

"Of course now!" said Harry fiercely, "What did you think, we're going to wait until after dinner or something? Hermione, Sirius is being tortured _right now_!"

"I- oh all right. You go and get the Invisibility Cloak and we'll meet you at the end of Umbridge's corridor, okay?"

Harry flounced out and the rest of them wordlessly made their way to Umbridge's corridor and waited. Harry took much quicker than expected.

"Got it," he said. "Ready to go, then?"

"All right, so Ron- you go and head Umbridge off…. Al, make sure that the Inquisitorial Squad and Filch are out of the way…. Ginny, Luna, if you can start moving people out of the corridor…. Harry and I will get the cloak on and wait until the coast is clear…."

Ron and Al made their way to the end of the corridor and then split up to find the people assigned to them.

If Al had to guess, the Inquisitorial Squad and Filch would be at the Great Hall. He couldn't be too sure, and wished for the Marauder's Map, but it was the place that they would most likely be.

He was beginning to regret this; he had no idea how to head them off. If only James were here….

_This isn't the time to think of your brother!_

What would James do?

_Well, _he thought,_ he would probably cause trouble…._

Al looked around and saw that Draco Malfoy and a small group of other Slytherins were nearby…. There was no sign of Filch.

Behind him, he heard suspicious mewling.

He turned and saw Mrs Norris, who, after all these years, must have developed a sixth sense about when students were intending to cause trouble. That didn't matter; this was entirely convenient.

Al observed his surroundings. Was there anything to break…? Nothing.

_What else isn't allowed in the corridors?_

The answer was simple: magic.

He looked Mrs Norris in the eyes. He'd heard that looking a dog in the eyes was a sign of aggression; he wasn't sure if it worked with cats, but Mrs Norris seemed hissed at him all the same.

He raised his wand to shoulder height and used the first spell that came to mind: _"Titillandus!"_

It hit exactly where he intended it to: Pansy Parkinson's stomach.

She began giggling uncontrollably in an unattractive manner. Draco Malfoy cast a glance over the people around him; his eyes settled on Al.

Al had one coherent thought: _run_.

He knew that there was a shortcut behind the tapestry next to a bust of Cliodna the druidess nearby. He spotted it and darted towards it, pulled it aside and dived into the corridor behind. He didn't dare stop running, even when he reached the end of the shortcut and emerged into another corridor. The people around him stared as he sprinted across the passageway, cut across a large clique of fourth year girls and hurried past the room which had served as his Divination classroom while he was being taught by Firenze the centaur, and made his way to the Great hall and out into the courtyard.

He then slowed to a steady walk and tried to blend in with the people around him. He didn't probably do very well. This suspicion was confirmed when a hand landed on his shoulder about ten minutes later and he knew that Argus Filch had caught him.

Al turned.

Mrs Norris was beside Filch. If cats could look smug, then she definitely did. Filch himself wore a superior look.

"Thought you could get away with magic in the corridors, eh?" he said nastily. "Oh, finally, I'm going to get the chance to use my whip…."

Al swallowed. "What are you talking about?" he tried to force a confused look onto his face.

"Lying will get you nowhere, boy," said Filch coldly. He steered Al in the direction of Umbridge's office, and Al knew that struggling will only make the situation worse.

_Wonderful._

However, when they arrived, Umbridge wasn't there. Al was partially relieved, although a bunch of other, unpleasant people were there. Apparently, Ron, Ginny, and Luna were caught, and for some reason Neville was there, as well. Al therefore focused his attention on the rest of the non-Slytherins in the room.

"We have another one," said Filch unpleasantly.

Ginny gave a small groan as Al was prodded to join them. One of the bigger Slytherins grabbed him by his shirt's collar.

Al tried to catch the Gryffindors', and Ravenclaw's, eyes. They'd have a chance to get out of there, if they would just….

Ron was the first one to notice. Al mouthed 'stunners,' and Ron gave a miniscule nod.

Al tried to get the others to see. Fortunately, they seemed to understand. Al then said, "NOW!"

Al brought his elbow into his captor's stomach as hard as he was able to. While he reeled, Al sent a stunner his way, leaving him free.

_"Stupefy!" _Al pointed towards the Slytherin restraining Ginny. _"Stupefy!"_ Ron. _"Stupefy!" _Neville then stunned Luna's, and they began working on the others.

_"Impedimenta!"_

_"Stupefy!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Incendio!"_

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

Ginny sent a Bat-Bogey hex Malfoy's way. After letting out some laughter Ron stunned him, and Malfoy fell to the ground.

"That's all of them," said Ginny.

"Where're Harry and Hermione?" Al inquired.

"The Forbidden Forest," said Neville, gesturing in its general direction.

"All right, we're going in," said Al.

Nobody questioned this. Ron grabbed Harry and Hermione's wands and they ran towards the forest before any of the people under _Impedimenta_ regained the ability to move. When they were just at the edge Luna pointed out that there was a racket coming from a certain part of the forest and they made their way towards it, getting cut by brambles and hitting branches and Al noticed that they all looked rather bad.

They followed the source of the commotion. The noise was getting lower and lower and Al started considering that they would just be lost if the noise faded when he heard Hermione's voice.

"…how exactly were you planning to get all the way to London?"

"Yeah, we were just wondering that," said Ron loudly.

Ginny, Ron, Neville, Luna and Al weaved their way into a clearing. Ron continued conversationally, "So, had any ideas?"

Harry took his wand from Ron, who had held it out. "How did you get away?"

"Couple of stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a nice little Impediment Jinx. But Ginny was best, she got Malfoy- Bat-Bogey hex- it was superb, his whole face was covered in the great flapping things. Anyway, we saw you heading into the forest out of the window and followed. What've you done with Umbridge?"

"She got carried away by a herd of centaurs," said Harry, and Al didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"And they left you behind?" Ginny inquired, surprised.

"No, they got chased off by Grawp."

"Who's Grawp?" said Luna.

"Hagrid's little brother. Anyway, never mind that now. Harry, what did you find out in the fire? Has You-Know-Who got Sirius or-"

"Yes, and I'm sure Sirius is still alive, but I can't see how we're going to get there to help him."

For several minutes they were silent.

"Well, we'll have to fly, won't we?" said Luna. Al had quite forgotten that she was a Ravenclaw.

"Okay, first of all," said Harry, sounding irritated, "'we' aren't doing anything if you're including yourself in that, and second of all, Ron's the only one with a broomstick that isn't being guarded by a security troll, so-"

"I've got a broom!" said Ginny indignantly.

"Yeah, but you're not coming," said Ron.

"Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!" said Ginny with the temper that Al missed seeing on his mother.

"You're too-"

"I'm three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Sorcerer's Stone," she said, "and it's because of me Malfoy's stuck back in Umbridge's office with giant flying bogeys attacking him-"

"Yeah-"

"We're your friends, in case you haven't noticed, Harry," Al put in. "If you're going, we're going."

Harry scowled. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway, because we still don't know how to get there-"

"I thought we'd settled that? We're flying!" Luna exclaimed.

"Look, you might be able to fly without a broomstick but the rest of us can't sprout wings whenever we-"

"There are other ways of flying than with broomsticks," said Luna.

"I s'pose we're going to ride on the back of the Kacky Snorgle or whatever it is?"

"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack can't fly," said Luna, "but _they_ can, and Hagrid says they're very good at finding places their riders are looking for."

Harry turned. "Yes!" He stepped towards thin air and lifted his hand and began patting something… invisible.

"Is it those mad horse things? Those ones you can't see unless you've seen someone snuff it?" _Threstrals,_ thought Al, remembering the time that James had pretended to know all about them when he had barely even an experience with them- he'd been twelve at the time, for goodness's sake.

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"Just two."

"We need seven," Al pointed out.

Harry turned on him, but he said hotly, "This is no time to argue! I thought you wanted to rescue Sirius?"

Harry looked furious, but he said, "Okay, fine, it's your choice, but unless we can find more threstrals you're not going to be able-"

"Oh, more of them will come," said Ginny.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because in case you haven't noticed, you and Hermione are covered in blood, and we know Hagrid lures threstrals with raw meat, so that's probably why these two turned up in the first place…."

Harry was silent for a few seconds, looking down at his sleeve.

"Okay, then, Ron and I will take these two and go ahead, and Hermione can stay with you and she'll attract more threstrals-"

"I'm not staying behind!"

Luna smiled serenely. "There's no need. Look, here come more now…. You two must really smell…."

Harry looked at where the two original threstrals had apparently come from. "All right, pick one and get on, then."

Al held out a hand and walked towards where the threstrals apparently where. Harry tapped him on the shoulder, and Al raised his eyebrows at him. Harry, mimicking the motion, pointed a finger at another direction.

Al therefore moved that way and stretched his hand out a bit farther. Finally, he felt hair and assumed that he had just reached the horse's mane. Standing on tiptoe, he performed a small jump, recalling how easy it had been to mount a horse that one time he went horseback riding with his family, although there had been a platform to stand on back then, and a saddle. He lucked out and was able to swing one of his legs over the invisible horse's back before he fell, but the momentum of his jump made the threstral's knees buckle from beneath him, or so he assumed.

"We all ready, then?" Harry called out. The rest of them had already mounted their threstrals, and they nodded.

"Okay…." Harry leaned over to whisper in his threstral's ear, and by some unseen method of communication all of the threstrals had gotten the message and they all lurched forward. Al had to grab his threstral's invisible neck so he didn't fall; although the threstral was even faster than his Meteoroid Seven back at home, it was relatively unsteady.

He suddenly realized how high up they were and closed his eyes and buried his face into its invisible mane.

He dared not open them until he felt the threstral tilting towards the ground; they were going down…. The threstral hit the ground smoother than expected and Al, feeling himself shaking, slid off its back.

"Where do we go from here, then?" Luna's voice said.

"Over here," said Harry, moving towards the telephone box and opening the door. "Come _on_!"

The squeezed themselves into the small space inside and suddenly Al was reminded of the blue telephone box thing that Lily kept making references to- the TARDIS. "It's bigger on the inside!" she would say. Al supposed it had an Undetectable Extension charm on it or something, but _this_ telephone box _definitely_ didn't have whatever it was.

"Whoever's nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!" Harry instructed.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business," said the familiar pleasant female voice. Someone had probably done as Harry said; Al couldn't see anything from where he was squashed into the wall.

"Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Alexander Prentice, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood…. We're here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!"

There was a metallic clank and someone handed Al a square badge bearing the words _Alexander Prentice, Rescue Mission_.

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present you wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

"Fine! Now can we _move_?"

The telephone box shuddered and began moving downwards.

The door opened and they hurried towards where Al knew the lifts were. Harry hit the down button and the lift rattled into view. They pressed into it and Harry immediately pushed the number nine button. Al was amazed at how quickly he moved in the situation; the lift was relatively slow. When the woman's voice said "Department of Mysteries," Harry stepped out right away, followed closely by the rest of them. He turned purposefully into a corridor that ended in an unadorned yet utterly familiar black door. "Let's go."

Harry walked towards the door with a sort of rigid determination. It swung open without being touched, and they poured into a circular room lit solely by blue-flamed candles.

"Someone shut the door."

Neville complied, but when he did the wall began to spin around them. Al backed to the centre of the floor- it wouldn't exactly be excellent if they hit the wall while it was moving.

"What was that about?" asked Ron when it had stopped.

"I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in from," whispered Ginny.

"How're we going to get back out?"

"Well, that doesn't matter now," said Harry. "We won't need to get out till we've found Sirius-"

"Don't go calling for him, though!" said Hermione instantly.

"Where do we go, then, Harry?"

"I don't- in the dreams I went through the door at the end of the corridor from the lifts into a dark room- that's this one- and then I went through another door into a room that kind of… glitters. We should try a few doors. I'll know the right way when I see it. C'mon."

"Wait," said Al. "I reckon we could open a couple of doors. We won't close them- I'm pretty sure if we do the room will just start spinning again- let's just do, er, trial and error I suppose you'd call it… just don't go into them or close any of them."

They obliged, each stepping forward to open the door nearest to them.

"Blimey," said Ginny from where she was. "This door won't budge…."

"This one does," said Harry, pushing it open, "this is a strange room… it's blank…."

"Don't go into it, then," said Al, opening his door, "what the… there's an archway here, it's odd…."

"Hey, Harry, isn't it this one?" said Hermione, as she cast a glance around her room, "Oh… no, sorry…."

"This one's fantastic!" said Ron from the door next to Hermione's. He looked as though he was about to go inside, but Hermione, not bothering to even look in, dragged him off.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ronald, _focus_…."

"Aquavirius maggots!" exclaimed Luna as she looked into her own room, "Daddy says that the Ministry breeds them."

"Harry," said Neville, "I think I've found it."

Harry went over to Neville's door and gave a small smile.

"Yes, it's that one."

The rest of them hurried over as Harry and Neville stepped inside.

As Al stepped inside, the ticking of a thousand clocks reached his ears.

"What _is_ that?" said Hermione as they noticed the source of the light- a bell jar which seemed to be full of a sparkling wind. In the jar was a hummingbird, fluttering around at the very top of the jar, but it fell, and as it did, it seemed to be getting younger and eventually became enclosed in its egg again. As Al watched it, all of a sudden he knew where he was.

"It's _time_," he whispered in answer to Hermione, "we're in the time room."

The time room, where the Unspeakables who worked on Temporal Manipulation stayed, and was thus Al's potential workplace. He gazed at the different clocks ticking all around him, suddenly hopeful.

Maybe, just _maybe_, if he could get a good look around, he would find a way to get back to where he belonged.

He cast a glance around. These shelves were full of clocks. It didn't look terribly extraordinary, but perhaps, on the other shelves-

"Keep going," said Harry tartly.

_Maybe later,_ thought Al. He followed the rest into the sole door behind the bell jar.

In this room were gigantic shelves stocked with glass orbs. Frowning, Al turned to look at the others- what was so remarkable about these? But even as he asked himself this, something started tugging at his mind- he was quite sure he knew this place….

"You said it was row ninety-seven," muttered Hermione to Harry.

"Yeah," said Harry equally quietly.

"We need to go right, I think. Yes… that's fifty-four…."

"Keep your wands out," reminded Harry.

They hurried to the right, passing a whole load of lanes full of the not quite identical glass orbs- some of them were glowing, whereas the others were dull.

"Ninety-seven!" said Hermione.

They stood at the end of the lane, looking into empty space.

"He should be near here…. Anywhere here… really close…."

"Harry."

"Somewhere about… here…."

Al exchanged looks with Hermione- they both had a suspicion that Sirius wasn't actually there. And if Sirius wasn't there….

"Harry?" said Hermione softly.

"What?"

"I… I don't think Sirius is here."

Everyone was silent for a while. Harry avoided eye contact; he did not turn to face them, but ran down the aisle and checked the other lanes. The rest of them stayed put, waiting.

"Harry?" said Ron, and the other five turned to look at him. He was gazing at one of the yellowing labels under one of the dull glass orbs.

"What?"

"Have you seen this?"

"What?" Harry said again, this time with a bit more enthusiasm, as he emerged from the space at the end of row ninety-seven. When he saw what Ron was looking at, he repeated, "What?"

"It- it's got your name on."

Harry approached, his head tilted questioningly. "My name?" he said uncomprehendingly.

Al examined the place again- he was in the Department of Mysteries, inside a place with shelves upon shelves of glass orbs. What did he know about the Department of Mysteries?

_Well,_ thought Al, _nobody really knows much about the Department of Mysteries._ Al himself had only ever read about what was inside the Department of Mysteries on his career pamphlet.

_Glass orbs,_ he thought again, _where have I seen glass orbs before?_

He'd never actually seen glass orbs like these before. He'd seen them in a picture somewhere, but-

_The Hall of Prophecy!_

It was in his career pamphlet. They were in the _hall of prophecy_, which surely meant that these glass orbs, _somehow_, were prophecies. And if one of these orbs was labelled with his father's name….

_Dad's in a prophecy…._

Meanwhile, Harry had, much to the disapproval of the others, taken the glass orb from the shelf, and was now brushing away the dust from his prophecy, clearly not realizing what it was.

"Wait, that's-" Al began in a hushed tone, but Harry didn't seem to notice. Al wasn't able to continue anyway, as, directly behind them, a slightly familiar, drawling voice said, "Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."

* * *

The Final Goodbyes

**[Rose]**

"One last time," said Rose, "Scorpius, _no_."

Rose scowled at the potted flutterby that her mother had placed in front of the back door of their house in Ottery St Catchpole. Hermione and Ron had decided to take a house a toy broomstick's flight away from the Burrow so that they could go and visit grandma and granddad Weasley as often as possible. In Hugo's case, it meant being able to swing by for food as often as he wanted. This also came strangely convenient when Hermione had to look up a disguising charm in one of the textbooks Hogwarts asked for during grandma and grandpa Weasley's time. It was the reason Rose's hair was now sleek and shiny, its usual bushiness entirely gone, and its colour a very light brown, lighter than her mother's. Her face was a bit rounder, her nose shorter (she had her father's nose and it bugged her to no end), her freckles gone. If anyone stared long enough, they would figure that she was a cross between Ron and Hermione, but only if they looked _very_ closely.

Scorpius narrowed his eyes. "In case you've forgotten, you and Lily aren't the only people who have their existence at stake. I'd much rather face death than be blinked out of existence. And unlike James, I don't have any N.E.W.T.s this year, so you don't have any other excuse. Rose," he said, trying to be convincing- this didn't work very well on Rose, who was his first friend and therefore knew all of his expressions, "I don't even have much I care about here. Just- let me come with you, okay?"

His appearance had also been changed. He had always looked a whole lot like his father, with the exception of his eyes, which were hazel, from his mother. His hair was now black, though not quite as dark as the Potter shade, and his chin wasn't pointed. Although the charms he had used had been relatively simple, his resemblance to Draco Malfoy was lessened dramatically.

"Who are you and what did you do to Scorpius? Last I remembered, Scorpius wasn't this insistent," said Rose, rolling her eyes. "And besides, it was supposed to be just me. Lily was just an addition… Al is _her_ brother anyway." Rose said this with a touch of exasperation. She was just as close to Al as either of the other Potter siblings, although they would insist otherwise. "And you haven't studied up on what you're supposed to do in the past."

Scorpius pointed to his black hair. "Wrong. I have, just a bit. And how am I supposed to make sure I exist?" demanded he. "For all I know you might let my parents die or…."

"Scorpius, I am your _friend_," said Rose. "Do you think I'll just let you cease to exist?"

Scorpius pursed his lips- he still had one last nugget of material with him. "I think that you're forgetting that I know more about the war than you or any of your cousins combined."

It worked; Rose hesitated.

"Whatever you do," said Rose, "just don't blame me if you pop out of existence."

Scorpius smiled, victorious.

"Hey, if you two lovebirds are done arguing, you might want to consider going inside the house, Rose," Lily inserted. She smiled, which made her look like her mother, although she had always been more of an even blend between her parents, and she had now been magically disguised. There was simply no charm that could affect her expressions. If there was, anyway, Lily would be the first to know about it. She was the family's Charms encyclopaedia. Currently, her hair was blond and her eyes were blue, and she was much taller than usual (she usually had her mother's petite build), which made her slightly taller than Rose and almost as tall as Scorpius. This made her look much hardly anything like either of her parents, although one might still be able to guess that she was a mix. Rose hated the way that the other two needed so little disguise; it made her feel overdressed. "Er, you too, I suppose, Scorpius… they'd want to know you're going."

Rose and Scorpius shared a look.

Scorpius's family, the Malfoys, had fallen from their social position after the war. Whenever someone mentions their name, the first thing that comes to mind is 'death eaters'. This resulted in the unfair prejudice that they all were arrogant, evil bigots. Rose had caught on to this fact the first time that she had met Scorpius, on the train to Hogwarts during their first year.

_Rose was in her compartment, which she shared with Al, James, Lucy and Roxanne. While the Potter brothers played a game of wizard chess from which they had banned Rose after she beat them twice each while on the train (she wasn't quite as much of an expert at this as Hugo or her father, but she was good), and Lucy and Roxanne caught in a heated debate about whether first years should be allowed broomsticks or not, Rose chanced to look up from her book and outside the door._

_She was surprised by what she saw. They were in the countryside by now, but there was still one person who hadn't settled in a compartment._

_Scorpius Malfoy._

_Rose remembered perfectly well that her father had told her that she should try and beat this boy in every exam and not to be friendly with him, but he looked so lost and alone that she took pity on him. She stood up, and James paused in the middle of a move._

_"What is it, Rose?" Al asked, noticing._

_Rose slid open the door and even Lucy and Roxanne stopped arguing. Rose stepped out and began, "You're Scorpius Malfoy, right?"_

_He turned around, looking surprised. "And you're Rose Weasley," he stated. "No, I'm not going to hex you…."_

_"What?" Rose asked, slightly befuddled. "Hey, don't you have a compartment yet?"_

_He shrugged; the stunned look was still on his face. "No, I don't. Nobody seems to have a space."_

_Rose snorted. "Are you kidding? The train has loads of compartments…."_

_"Well, that's what they all said," said Scorpius. Rose noticed the trunk he seemed to have been lugging all through the train._

_"Have you been bringing that everywhere? It looks heavy," observed Rose. "Doesn't it have a featherlight charm on it?"_

_Scorpius shook his head._

_"You could sit with me and my cousins if you'd like," Rose offered, and Scorpius's eyebrows jumped. He looked positively alarmed. "Here, let me help you with that."_

_James called, "What're you doing, flower?"_

_"Don't call me that," growled Rose as she helped Scorpius drag his trunk into their compartment. It must've weighed at least eight hundred kilograms._

_"Rose, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Roxanne demanded._

_"Swearing is bad, Roxanne," said Lucy._

_"He doesn't have a compartment," Rose said, nodding towards Scorpius._

_"We're full," said Roxanne._

_"No, we aren't. There're five of us in here- we still have one seat," corrected Rose. "And I'm pretty sure that none of you are fat enough to occupy two seats," she added, trying for James and Fred's upbeat humour which somehow always convinced others to do what they wanted._

_Nobody laughed, but nobody argued with her, either, which Rose took to be a sign of progress._

_As it was, Al had moved closer to James so that they could comfortably play chess and so the only seat left was right in front of Rose. Rose gestured the pink-cheeked Scorpius to sit there. Al grumbled a bit._

_"Tell me, why don't the other people want you to sit with them?"_

_"I'm a Malfoy, remember?" said Scorpius, pointing towards his trunk. "Everybody thinks that if I sit with them, I'll suddenly cast the killing curse on them or something."_

_"That's stupid," said Rose, "and besides, you don't seem like a bad person to me."_

_Scorpius laughed a little. "Well, they haven't really had a chance to know me, have they?"_

He had recounted how, after the war, his family fell from the social position they used to have, and how, without N.E.W.T.s and with the bad name the people at his father's workplace were reluctant to trust him, and how his father was altogether lucky that he still had a job. His mother, Astoria Greengrass, had had a job before she had married his father, and had taken her N.E.W.T.s, so that her income was really the only stable resource that their family had, aside from their fortune, which they took great care of. It had been hard for their family to tone down their taste for luxury a few notches at first, but eventually they were able to cope. Scorpius was born when they had already adapted completely and was therefore less extravagant than his father used to be.

Even the rest of the Weasley cousins seemed to have gotten that prejudice. Much to her disappointment, even Hugo and the first two Potter siblings were affected. Rose therefore took great care to drill into Lily that Scorpius was not, in any case, a spoiled, arrogant hypocrite. However, although it worked, Lily seemed to have gotten an insane idea that Rose had a crush on Scorpius. "Well, I think you two look great together," Lily would say, "and maybe if you have a daughter with your hair and Scorpius's eyes, could you name her after me?"

Rose had gotten great at tuning her out. The problem was, it had also spread to her other cousins.

This was demonstrated by Roxanne as Rose entered her own house.

"Ooh, look who the flowers got to come with them!" she said, laughing as she tied her dark hair into a ponytail. "How'd you convince them to go together, Lily?"

"You should ask Scorpius," Lily replied, grinning. "But I bet Rose must be really happy, eh, Rose?"

Rose grunted. "This is a serious occasion, Lily."

"Right," said Roxanne, her smile fading. "Hope I see you again, Lily. You too, Rose. And _you_, boy, you had better take care of Rosie. Or else, if I hear about it…."

"I think Rose can take care of herself," said Scorpius.

"True enough," said Roxanne agreeably. "They're at the sitting room, by the way…. I have to go to the Bowtruckle Rights convention," she added. "I'm sorry, I can't be there…."

"It's okay." Lily attacked her with a hug.

"I'm going to miss you. Say hi to Al, okay, Lily? Okay?"

"Okay."

"At this rate I'm going to run out of John Green references. Bye, Lils." And she turned and headed for the door.

"Bye," said Lily.

"Sitting room, eh?" said Rose as the door closed behind Roxanne. "I'm not surprised; it's easily the biggest room…."

Rose guided the way towards her house's sitting room, although Lily knew perfectly well where it was (Scorpius, however, hadn't had a chance to be inside Rose's house; it was something of a miracle that he even managed to find it). Rose didn't know what to expect- the entire Weasley family or a select few?

Those who _were_ there were her and Lily's families, grandma and grandpa Weasley, as well as Uncle George, who was probably the reason Roxanne was there.

That didn't explain why Rose's mum and Uncle George were arguing.

"It's already a _stretch_ that we're sending Rose and Lily, George! Don't you realize that that could change everything drastically? I can't believe you think that-"

"Is it really so much more of a stretch, Hermione?" interrupted Uncle George. "Is it so big that-"

"Look at Harry!" she shot back. "He might be able to save Sirius, but he has enough maturity to-"

"It's only because they'll be arriving too late to save Sirius, Hermione," Uncle George said angrily.

"We're here already," said Lily loudly.

"Rose," said Hermione equally furiously, "tell me that you-"

"What, Hermione? Make sure Fred dies?" Uncle George's blue eyes were piercing.

She flushed. "I didn't say that!" she hissed. "Ronald, tell me that you won't stand for-"

Rose's dad sighed. "Rose and Lily are old enough to decide on their own. Let's let them decide for themselves what's right."

Rose was beginning to get irritated; this was no time to argue.

"Mum! Dad!" she said at the top of her voice. "This isn't the _time_!" She glared at Lily, who had a knack for making people notice her.

Catching on, Lily said in a very audible voice, "Aunt Hermione! Scorpius wants to come too!"

It was effective, to say the least.

Although the distraction had mostly been intended for Rose's mum, it was her dad that reacted most violently.

_"WHAT?"_

He had leapt to his feet, looking scandalized.

Rose sent a look Lily's way. She looked slightly guilty, but not guilty enough.

Rose groaned. "Scorpius says he wants to make sure he exists."

The people in the room turned to Scorpius in unison.

"It's a fair reason," said Scorpius defensively.

Hermione didn't look like she had much will to argue with anyone for some time. "Fine!" she half-shouted. "Fine!"

"Ron, Hermione," said Uncle Harry quietly, "you won't want to have Rose leave with you angry."

This worked fairly well. Rose's mum closed her eyes for a minute, and then opened them again, looking calmer.

Rose's dad grudgingly moved towards Scorpius, and held out his hand. A surprised Scorpius took it and they shook.

"I suppose you wouldn't be a bad person to be back in time with," said he. "But if you're planning on anything that'd change anything essential, you're going to regret it."

Was it Rose's imagination, or did Scorpius get paler?

He then went over to his daughter and gave her a hug. "Make sure that you don't mess around with us," he said.

Rose laughed a little. "I won't."

"Brilliant," said Ron.

Rose's mum embraced her for about a minute. Rose reflected that on paper, a minute would sound short, but a minute-long hug is a _very_ long one.

"Remember everything we discussed?" said the older Weasley.

"Yes," said Rose.

"I'm going to miss you," said Hermione.

"I will, too," whispered Rose.

"That's different," murmured Hermione. "You'll be seeing us."

"Yeah, but it won't be the same," said Rose softly. "You won't remember me. You won't even know you're my mum."

"Yes, but _I_ remember," said Hermione, smiling. "Don't forget that, okay?"

"Okay."

Grandma Weasley gave her a peck on the cheek and grandpa Weasley a hug. They didn't say anything, but it was more than enough that they were just there.

Hugo gave her an awkward, one-armed squeeze.

"Can't I go?" he grumbled.

"No," said Rose. "You're not exactly the most useful person to have around."

Hugo grinned. Teasing between them was familiar. "Tell Al I said hi."

"I will."

Rose looked over at Scorpius and saw that he looked rather unhappy, maybe because there wasn't anyone to bid him farewell. It suddenly occurred to Rose that he hadn't even said that his parents knew he was going.

But it wouldn't matter. If everything goes to plan, they'd be back before they left.

From across the room James was hugging Lily. They were both laughing, probably from a joke that James had told. But James wasn't a very long hugger and soon Lily was standing next to Rose. All three of those who would be leaving had a knapsack slung over their shoulders. They were trying to prolong the last moments that they would have before they would be suddenly back there in 1995- no, 1996. They would be going back twenty-six years, to the summer of 1996.

"So… this is it, then," said Lily uneasily. "Al… we're going to make sure that Al's going to be back."

"Yes," said Hermione. "I… good luck." She passed the time turner she had acquired from the Department of Mysteries after five months of waiting. This was, in fact, already short, and it probably only actually happened because it was Hermione Weasley who had requested it. "You know what to do?"

"We make sure we're the only people in a five-meter radius," recited Rose. "And we smash it."

"Exactly." Hermione gave them a faint smile. "Remember what we told you. _Remember_. And you'll always be able to come home to us…."

Rose nodded. "Back away," she warned the people around her, "except you, Lily, and Scorpius."

The two others inched forward. Rose looked around, savouring what may very well be her last glimpse of her house and 2022 in general. Lily and Scorpius seemed to be doing the same.

"On the count of three," she instructed. "One, two…" she shut her eyes.

_"Three."_

* * *

**My chapters are steadily getting longer...**

**Why is Scorpius so eager to go to the past? What will happen to Al? Well, you'll find out... sooner or later. Meanwhile... any guesses on the direction this story is going?**

**C'mon guys, I mean, I don't bite (I don't even send _virtual_ bites), just talk to me, leave a review. I swear, I'll reply at the end of part one.**

**Speaking of the end of part one, there's only Chapter Nine now! Are you excited? Because I am.**


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